


When It Rains

by comefeedtherainn



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Drug Abuse, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, NOT tucklix positive, Self Harm, dubcon, graphic depictions of sex, unhealthy dom/sub dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-28 05:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12599504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comefeedtherainn/pseuds/comefeedtherainn
Summary: Tucker has always felt a little unsteady. Like a plate on the edge of a counter top, ready to shatter on tile with one wrong move. He supposes that's why he was drawn to Felix; a volatile force of nature that makes him feel. Just feel...something. Tucker is pulled down, like mass to the core of the Earth. And what, or who, can challenge gravity itself?Written for 2k17 NaNoWriMo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! No lengthy intros here, just a quick reminder that this fic is rated explicit for a good reason. Additionally, please mind the tags and take responsibility for cultivating your own online experience! Feel free to contact me with questions, I don't get sassy about spoiling if it will make someone more comfortable.
> 
> Protect yourselves, love yourselves, and enjoy!

_The room is dark around him, the only light a soft, golden glow that slowly circles him where he sits. The chair is wooden, and cold, his arms are bound behind it’s back at a painful angle that is causing his shoulders to slowly go numb. His feet are flat to the floor, a thin carpet that scratches his soles. He hasn’t been blindfolded, this time, his predator allowing him the blessing of sight only to tease him, that rotating golden ball circling and only allowing him passing glimpses._

_“Tucker.”_

_The voice is everywhere, filling the room and his ears and his chest and he breathes, deeply through his nose and with a sigh from his mouth. His body is alight, his heart thumping with anticipation, and excitement, and a bit of fear at being incapacitated in a place so dark._

_“Tucker.”_

_He’s hard, and wound tight, his predator has been teasing for hours. He isn’t sure how much more he can take, but the desperation is a sweet, delicious thing, curled in his stomach and traveling out to prickle the tips of his fingers and toes. He parts his lips, gasps and lets his head fall back as his hair is tugged, exposing his throat. Teeth clamp down there and he whines, a name falling from his lips._

_“Felix.”_

Tucker wakes with a start, the shrill air horn tone of his alarm rattling his ears. He sits up, squinting into the blue light of the early morning, and rubs his face with a groan. A moment of blind groping later and he locates his phone, smacking it until the alarm shuts up, and then lets his arm fall back to the mattress with a heavy thud. He opens one eye again, sighing heavily through his nose as he peers at the other side of the bed. Empty. As it has been for two months, now.

This is the third time he’s had that dream in the past couple of weeks. He mutters in frustration as his heart still pounds, blood pulsing in his groin and setting his jaw on edge. He doesn’t have time to take care of it, he has to get Junior ready for school and his own ass ready for work. Tucker forces himself up to sit, his eyes still mostly closed, and slowly drags himself from his warm, empty bed.

He shuffles straight for the coffee maker, filling it up and starting it on autopilot with his eyes still half closed. While that runs he goes to put his contacts in, hoping that will wake him up a little, and wash his face. By the time he returns the pot is full of dark liquid, and he pours himself the biggest mug they have and drinks it black.

Every time he thinks he’s over Felix, he has a dream like that again. They’re almost always sexual, which Tucker is only mildly ashamed about, but sometimes there’s sweet words too. Felix always had sweet words for him. Sucks that he always had sharp ones, too. Too sharp; Tucker had had to back away before he got cut. That was two months ago, now, and Tucker has stopped receiving the pleading, sometimes stinging, texts and voicemails. Junior has stopped asking where Felix is. His friends still look at him like he’s a ticking time bomb, though, ready to burst the second anyone breathes too loudly. It kind of pisses him off.

Tucker finishes his coffee and gets another before going to take a shower. Once that’s done he goes to wake Junior, feeling a little more alive as he opens his son’s door slowly. “Hey, dude. Time to wake up.”

Junior just grumbles, rolling over. Tucker smirks; the kid is too much like him sometimes. He’s eleven now, getting to be a little sassier. Tucker is torn between being proud of his wit and being annoyed that the kid frequently uses it against him. When Tucker repeats himself the kid sighs heavily and sits up, giving him a look. “I’m up. I’m up.”

“Good,” Tucker snickers. “Come on. I don’t have time to make breakfast, but I can pour a kickass bowl of cereal.”

Junior snorts, though he seems amused, and that’s enough to get him to swing his legs over the side of the mattress and get to his feet. His room is a goddamn mess, Tucker notes, and he decides that’s something they can fight about after they’re more awake and Junior’s home from school. He hates making the kid think about much of anything before a full day of school, remembers how hard it was for him when he was going. Seems like a long time ago now. Jesus, he’s getting old.

He shuffles back to the kitchen, and hears Junior duck into the bathroom for a minute before following after him. The kid gets his pills from the cupboard himself, taking one with a glass of juice and pouring a bowl of the cereal Tucker has left out. “You’re tired too, huh?” Tucker asks him with a soft snort.

“Yeah,” Junior shrugs, sitting at their small table with his breakfast and tucking his legs under himself. “I’ll feel better after food.”

Tucker reaches to ruffle his hair, laughing when Junior scowls and bats his hand away. He hardly lets Tucker get away with anything, anymore. It’s half cute and half kind of fucking depressing, when he remembers what Junior was like as a little one. He still smiles a lot, and laughs a lot, but now he tells Tucker that he’s embarrassing, not to call him Junior in front of his friends. Apparently they call him…Tucker. Which is a fucking trip.

The pair of them finish their breakfast in mostly silence; they’re both so fucking exhausted most mornings they don’t have much to say. They get themselves dressed and Juniors shouts goodbye as he takes himself out to the bus. Tucker remembers when he used to insist that Tucker go with him to the curb, holding on tightly to his hand. Fuck. Old. He knows he’s only thirty, but he can’t help how he feels, watching his kid growing hair he didn’t have before and needing deodorant and having crushes on people at school. He feels old as hell.

Tucker pulls his work smock over his head and looks in the mirror as he puts his dreadlocks in a low ponytail, grimacing as he places his work hat over them. God, he looks fucking lame. No wonder he can’t get any ass. Who wants to fuck a barista at a shitty coffee shop, with a dorky hat and smock and an eleven year old?

The drive to work is quick; it’s so early that only half the working population has left their fucking houses. Tucker yawns widely the entire time, blasting music in an effort to wake himself and only somewhat succeeding. He pulls into his parking space and goes inside the shop through the back, yawning once more as he clocks in before going to drop off his shit in the break room.

“Tucker, you’re on time. Has Hell frozen over?”

“Eat my ass, Wash,” Tucker smirks, giving his manager and close friend a playfully dry glare.

Wash snorts and nudges him, just as playful, the corner of his mouth pulling up at the corner. Wash has that crazy amount of freckles where they even spread onto his lips. Tucker used to be distracted by them. Still is sometimes, but only because they’re so fucking weird.

“It should be fucking illegal for this place to open so goddamn early,” comes the muffled voice of Tucker’s other best friend, Church, sitting at the table with his face in his arms. Church and Wash don’t…get along. Mostly because they dated for like a month and it was the most chaotic thing Tucker has ever seen in his goddamn life and ended in smoke and fire. So, that was weird. But neither of them says anything to him about it, or about him still being close with them both at the same time, so he tries not to worry about it. Emphasis on ‘tries.’

Wash purses his distracting freckled lips, giving Church an exasperated look. “It’s only 7am.”

“Yeah, ass o’clock,” Church scoffs, sitting up and glaring at Wash. “Would it kill them to open us up an hour later?”

“Well, we’d have to stay later, then,” Wash retorts, turning toward the desk that he and the other manager, Carolina, share, and scrolling through random bullshit on the computer. Pretending to be busy so Church will shut up. Tucker has to give him credit for that one.

Church huffs and sits back, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. So dramatic. Wash can be too, which is probably why they were so goddamn volatile together. Tucker isn’t really sure what possessed Church to ask their manager out in the first place; he doesn’t seem like Church’s usual type. Sure, Church likes blonds, but that’s about where it ends. Wash tends to be quiet, a bit reserved, his sense of humor quite dry. Church likes them loud, spontaneous, a little bit absurd.

Tucker looks up as two more of his co-workers make their way into the break room, Grif and Simmons. Though Tucker isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to be able to call them that as the rings on their fingers catch the light. They haven’t set a date for the wedding yet, and the only reason any of them knew that they’d gotten engaged at all was because Donut spotted Simmons’ ring and shrieked so loud it caused a bit of a panic in the shop.

“Morning,” Tucker greets, grinning when Grif just grunts in reply.

“Good morning, Tucker,” Simmons replies for him, hanging up his shit next to Grif’s in their locker. Because they can never do anything on their own, not even lockers. “You look like shit.”

“…fuck you too,” Tucker scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Sorry,” Simmons quickly amends. “Just, you have bags under your eyes.”

Tucker sighs heavily as Wash instantly straightens, turning to look at him in concern. “Are you still not sleeping well?”

“It’s fine,” he says, but he can tell Wash knows he’s lying through his teeth. “It’s just insomnia, dude. Happens every once in a while.” He knows Wash knows that, because they’ve sat on the phone many times, talking into the early hours as they both fight to wear themselves out enough to sleep.

“Just don’t let it go for too long,” Wash warns, his blond brows pinched in disapproval. “You’ll start getting sick again.”

“Yeah, okay, dad,” Tucker huffs, crossing his arms defensively and turning away. He can’t stand the way that Wash looks at him, sometimes. Makes his chest feel funny.

Wash doesn’t seem too put off by his attitude, used to his shitty moods by now. Tucker can admit to himself that he’s often up and down, especially after breaking up with Felix. One day he’ll be fine, the next he’ll wake up like this morning - exhausted, and a little pissy. Wash’s moods are similar, and Tucker is pretty sure that’s why the guy never gives him any shit.

As the clock strikes 7:50am, the group of them file out and into the main shop to open up for the day. Tucker automatically goes to open up the register and count the cash,knowing Wash will just ask him to do it anyway. He’s the only one Wash trusts with that job besides Simmons…and even that is questionable.

“Hey.”

Tucker looks up as he feels a shoulder press against his, looking away again when he sees it’s only Church. He’s leaning on the counter, his pale arms folded in front of him. “Morning, sunshine,” Tucker greets in return, shuffling five dollar bills between his fingers as he counts.

Church snorts, nudging him, then is quiet for a long moment. “You sure you’re good? You really do look worn out.”

“Yes,” Tucker huffs, giving up counting as it seems Church is intent on distracting him and he can barely count by ones and multitask, let alone by fives. “I dunno why you guys think I’m a time bomb.”

“Dude. You broke up with Felix two months ago and you’re still fucked up over it.” Church isn’t asking. His thick brows are set and his mouth is a grim line. Tucker looks away, watching Wash turning on the Open sign. “We’re just worried.”

“Well, don’t be, alright?” Tucker doesn’t mean to snap, but it comes out that way anyway. Story of his fucking life. “I’m just having a hard time getting to sleep, it happens. I don’t give a fuck about Felix anymore. I dumped him, remember?”

“Yeah,” Church murmurs,watching Tucker’s profile and putting him even more on edge. “I remember.”

“Great, okay. So can you shut up now? I gotta count and I can’t do it if you’re talking to me.”

Church doesn’t get pissy about the brush off, but he does roll his eyes and heave this sigh that makes Tucker’s eye twitch. Although it’s been doing that on and off for the past week. He bows his head and scowls as he concentrates on the bills once more.

He wants to appreciate the concern, but he just feels patronized. Like a teenager who can’t handle a fucking break up. And he wasn’t even the one who got dumped! Just because he’s having weird dreams, and doesn’t eat much, or sleep, and often finds himself hugging a pillow just for something to fucking hold doesn’t mean he misses Felix. Felix can get fucked, for all Tucker cares.

Tucker grimaces as that thought just sends another twisting pang through his gut, and suddenly feels sick to his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: dom/sub, NSFW

“You remembered to pack your homework, right?”

“Yeah, dad.”

“Tooth brush? Contacts?”

“Yep.”

“Cell charger?”

“Dad,” Junior sighs, giving him an exasperated look. “I got everything, okay? Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering!” Tucker insists, jaw dropping in offense. “You’re so mean to your father.”

Junior snorts and gives him a quick hug. His mom is waiting downstairs, ready to take him for a long weekend. Junior’s excited, and Tucker’s glad that he gets to go; the town she lives in has cooler shit to do, and Junior’s friends with the neighbor kids. The area Tucker lives in doesn’t really have kids, and those that are around, Tucker would rather Junior didn’t chill with them. It’s not the first time that Tucker wonders if Junior would be better off if Carmen had full custody, but she can’t swing it at the moment. Plus making him switch schools now seems a little cruel.

Tucker realizes he must have zoned out, because he’s standing at the window and Carmen’s car is gone and he hadn’t even noticed them leave. He sighs through his nose, rubbing his sandpaper eyes, and goes to the kitchen to throw some bullshit together for dinner. The bulb on the ceiling is flickering, has been for a week or so, and Tucker keeps forgetting to call maintenance to fix it. He glowers at it for a moment before bending over to dig through the fridge.

He’s waiting on water to boil, chopping up what’s left of his vegetables in the meantime, when his cell phone begins to buzz. It startles him every time with how harsh it is, and he swears softly as he checks the caller ID, then feels the blood slowly draining from his face. What the fuck, what the fuck is Felix calling him for?

He watches the thing vibrate for a moment, rattling on the linoleum counter and flashing Felix’s name in stark white. Tucker’s heart is pounding out of his chest and he feels like he might be sick, like all of his insides have clenched up and away from the shuddering cell phone. He’s reaching out and pressing the call button before he can scream at himself not to, although his voice won’t work when he puts the thing to his ear.

“Tucker?”

Felix sounds the same. Of course he does, why the fuck wouldn’t he? It’s only been a couple months. But somehow that puts something heavy in Tucker’s chest and he swallows. “Felix.”

“Hey,” Felix replies, sighing slightly. “I…was kinda afraid you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“I wasn’t. What do you want?”

“Alright, look,” Felix begins, and Tucker can almost see him running his fingers through his hair, making it stick up as he paces. He always paces when he’s on the phone. “I know shit ended kind of…ugly. But I really wanna see you so we can hash things out. Maybe get some closure?”

“I have closure,” Tucker responds harshly, lying straight through his teeth. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please? I’m not trying to get back together, I swear,” Felix insists, and he sounds sincere, he sounds earnest as hell and it’s tugging at Tucker’s heart. “I just have some stuff I wanna say.”

Tucker clenches his jaw, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “…fine. Come over, Junior’s gone.”

“Okay.” There’s that sigh again, Felix sounds so fucking relieved. Tucker can’t remember him ever sounding so desperate. “Okay. I’ll be there in an hour?”

“Fine.” Tucker almost hangs up, then pauses and decides against it. “Um. Bye.”

“See you soon.” Felix is the one that hangs up.

An hour later, dinner abandoned now that Tucker suddenly isn’t hungry, there’s a knock at the door. Tucker’s heart stops for a moment and his stomach flips, and it’s half excitement and half nerves and he really doesn’t need to be feeling that right now. He broke up with Felix for a reason. He and Felix were bad for each other. Right. Okay. He gets up and crosses to the door, taking a breath before opening it.

He looks incredible, if Tucker’s being honest. Hair perfectly styled, clean-shaven, jeans hugging his hips and sweater clinging slightly to his biceps - wait, no. Fuck. “Felix. Hey,” Tucker greats weakly, cursing his voice as it breaks just a bit. Jesus fucking Christ, he smells good, too.

“Hey, Tucker,” Felix greets, his mouth falling into a lopsided grin, showing off his perfect, bright white teeth. “Uh. Can I come in, or…?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” Tucker mutters, pulling the door open a bit further and stepping back so Felix can come in. It feels so odd. Felix has been in his apartment hundreds of times, cooked in his kitchen, sat on his couch, been in his bed - nope, reroute. Fuck. But, still. It’s a bit like stepping into a memory. “You look good.”

Felix looks over his shoulder at him, the harsh light from the kitchen bouncing off of his eyes and enhancing the golden tones. He smiles again, looking pleased. “Oh, yeah? You’re not bad yourself.”

Tucker purses his lips, looking away. “Yeah, don’t get a big fucking head about it,” he mutters, shutting the door behind him. They hover in the entryway, Felix watching him closely and Tucker watching his own feet. “You wanna like, go sit on the couch, or something?”

“Sure.”

They shuffle into the living area and Tucker sits first, folding his legs under him and pressing into the corner. Felix sits right next to him, and Tucker’s not really sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t complain. It’s quiet again, and Tucker takes the time to notice Felix. His cuticles are bright red, for one; he’s been biting them again, the fucker. His leg shakes just a bit; he’s nervous. His eyes are everywhere but Tucker, taking in the living room as if he’s never seen it before, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly.

“So.”

Tucker looks up and comes face to face with a soft smile, one that brings back so many emotions that his chest feels full of them. “…so,” he echoes, grinning just a bit when Felix laughs quietly.

“This is awkward.”

“Yeah,” Tucker scoffs,running his fingers through his dreads and grinning a little wider. “Yeah. Good to see you, though.”

“Is it?” Felix asks, watching him closely again. Tucker remembers why he liked it, remembers that it made him feel like nothing could get past Felix. No matter what he tried to hide, Felix would see it, and then he’d make it go away. “Last time we talked, you sounded pretty damn adamant about never seeing me again.”

Tucker grimaces, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well. Some shit went down, last time.”

“I know.” Felix sighs heavily, turning toward him and fixing Tucker with an imploring gaze. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to. “Tucker. I…I hurt you. I realize that, and I’m so sorry. I was in a bad place, you know? But this time apart has really helped, I’ve gotten my priorities straight, and I really wanna make us work. We’re so good together.”

Tucker’s having a hard time remembering exactly why he decided enough was enough. He knows that Felix had been spiraling for a while, getting drunk too often and being a bastard, and being a different kind of bastard when he was sober. The tone Felix is using, though, has Tucker remembering all of the sweet words, again. All of the gifts, and the promises, and the feeling of having someone to hold him at night. Being able to come home from a long day raising a preteen and working a shitty job and just being able to lay back and let someone fucking take care of him. Tucker’s heart tugs again. Still…

“Felix…shit was so rough before,” Tucker sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know if we can do it better this time.”

Felix nods slowly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He presses his hands together, like he’s praying, and is silent for a long moment. “I know I didn’t treat you right. I didn’t,” Felix murmurs, not looking at him for the moment. Thank fuck. Tucker can hear him better when he’s not looking. “But…I love you. I love you so fucking much, Tucker, I never stopped.”

The breath leaves Tucker in an instant, and he stares, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat. “Felix, for fuck’s sake,” he croaks, his eyes stinging a little. “Don’t…”

“I can’t help it,” Felix insists, turning his eyes on him finally and oh god, they’re shiny, no, no. Tucker isn’t strong enough for this shit. “I can’t help it. I do, I love you.”

“Goddamn it. I love you too, it’s just…” Tucker sighs heavily, rubbing his face. He hasn’t said that aloud in so long. But the way Felix is staring into his soul, it’s like he’s reaching in and pulling the words out clutched in his fist.

“What?” Felix asks, more softly. He’s moving closer, into Tucker’s space, and Tucker opens his eyes to find them so close he can feel Felix’s breath. He smells like cigarettes and mint gum. Tucker resists the urge to take a deep inhale. “Give me one good reason, and I’ll leave.”

Tucker swallows again, his mind going blank at the proximity. He shakes his head helplessly, a short, shaky laugh escaping his chest. “I, uh…I got nothin’.”

Felix grins again, and Tucker only has time to blink before he’s wrapped up in him all over again. His lips are soft, his hands are firm on Tucker’s waist, and Tucker lifts his arms to wrap around Felix’s neck. Shit, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go, but it feels good. It feels so damn good, and he can’t remember why he’d thought that ending it was the best decision. He’s felt dead without Felix, drained and gray, and now he’s alive, his heart and skin dancing. He presses closer, needing more, needing to make up for the past two stupid months.

“I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry,” Tucker murmurs, tangling his fingers on the back of Felix’s head.

“I forgive you,” Felix whispers back, smiling against his mouth. “I love you, Tucker.”

Tucker groans and kisses him firmly again, climbing into his lap and straddling his waist. Thank fuck Junior’s gone for the night. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Felix doesn’t answer, just slides his hands down Tucker’s body and rests them on his ass before squeezing. He’s still smiling against Tucker’s lips, crooked and almost self-satisfied. Tucker doesn’t have the ability to analyze it, even if he wanted to, as all of the blood has slowly drained from his brain and gone elsewhere. He groans softly again, rolling his hips against Felix’s and clinging more tightly.

Felix laughs quietly, kissing Tucker’s throat. It’s searing hot and soft and Tucker tilts his head back to offer more skin. “Mm. You sure this isn’t what you had in mind, Tucker?”

Tucker flushes a bit, although the embarrassment just makes him cling tighter. “Shut up. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, yeah?” Felix kisses down the side of his neck, then his shoulder, as his fingers trace the dip of Tucker’s spine. “Just you and your hand since me, huh? Nobody else quite does it for you?”

Tucker has a fleeting image of Wash in his mind’s eye, then stomps on it until it fucking dies. Nope, nope, nope. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs, falling back into the banter like they never stopped and smiling slightly.

Felix smirks, pausing before lifting Tucker up, then depositing him prone on the floor. It hurts a little, but Tucker kind of likes that, likes it even more when Felix is suddenly straddling him, looming high above and haloed by the stark white kitchen lights. “Ow,” he says anyway.

Felix snorts, seeing right through that shit, and starts up the grinding again, sliding his hands up Tucker’s shirt and over his chest. Tucker’s breath catches when Felix brushes his nipples, then stops there and pinches them hard. “Ohhh, fuck, fuck,” he groans, grinding his head back into the thin carpet.

“Mmmhm,” Felix smirks, doing it even harder before letting them go. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t fuck anyone else. I ruined you for ‘em, didn’t I?”

“Uh huh,” Tucker breathes, his eyes closed and throat exposed once again. “So, are we gonna fuckin’ dry hump on the floor all night or are you gonna take me to the bedroom?”

He opens his eyes when suddenly he’s cold, the weight on his hips gone. He’s a little disappointed, but less so when Felix tugs him to his feet and kissing him firmly. “You’re such a smartass,” Felix mutters.

“But you missed me,” Tucker retorts with a grin.

“Maybe.” Felix tucks his fingers into the front of Tucker’s jeans and begins walking them backward, down the short hall and to Tucker’s bedroom door. Tucker takes the opportunity to press Felix up against it, slotting on of his thighs between his legs and grinding against him. Felix allows that for about three seconds before grabbing the back of his neck, squeezing and making Tucker’s eyes flutter as he’s pulled away. Felix spins them, pushing the door open and steering Tucker in still gripping his neck.

“Pushy,” Tucker teases, even as the clamp of Felix’s palm does shit to him that he hasn’t felt in months. Whatever has been having a fucking riot in his head has settled, and his lead limbs are now alight with energy. He grunts as Felix shoves him onto the bed, landing on his stomach before rolling over quickly. Felix is on him in seconds, pulling at his clothes and biting at his lips. “Fuck,” Tucker sighs, lifting his arms when Felix pulls his shirt up. He reaches to remove Felix’s too, but Felix bats his hands away, leaving himself fully clothed as he pulls down Tucker’s jeans as well. Tucker shivers, way more into that than he would probably tell anyone. Ever.

Felix grins, clearly noticing the shudder, and bends over to suck harshly at one of Tucker’s nipples. He bites it when Tucker cries out, harder the more Tucker whines and squirms. He finally lets go when Tucker pushes at his shoulder in exquisite distress, panting heavily. But only after a few extra moments; Felix always likes to push him.

“Already, Tucker?” Felix teases, reaching back to massage Tucker’s erection in his hand. So close, but Felix is still touching him on top of his briefs and Tucker’s gonna fucking burst into flame and die before this is over.

“Fuck, fuck you,” Tucker snaps, clinging to Felix’s thighs and digging his nails in. Felix can’t feel it through his pants, but it makes Tucker feel better, expelling some energy. “Just hurry up, come on.”

“I think you have a lot of apologizing to do,” Felix purrs, in that tone that makes Tucker shiver. “Who says I won’t just leave you like this?”

“Oh, god, don’t joke,” Tucker whines, and Felix laughs but he can’t return it. He’s too goddamn worked up.

“Tell me how much you love me, Tucker.”

Tucker’s a babbling mess within minutes, Felix bringing him up to the edge of release and then squeezing the base of his dick hard, over and over. Tucker’s thrashing and crying out and babbling anything he can think of that will make Felix let him come. It goes on for at least an hour, though Tucker wouldn’t know, because time is a fucking illusion when your brain is liquid. It’s way too much, especially for their first time in two months, and yet Tucker is in love with it. It’s so fucking good, he feels loose and wound tight all at once, and it’s them. It’s why he loves Felix, why he’s drawn to him like a fucking magnet. Felix is fucking ecstasy.

“Say it,” Felix mutters, stroking Tucker so slow he thinks he’s gonna crawl out of his skin, their lips brushing as he speaks. “Say you’ll never leave me again.”

“Never again!” Tucker whines, hips rolling uselessly. Every time he moves Felix stops. “Never again, I’ll never do it again, fuck, Felix!”

“Mm, I like that,” Felix smirks, sitting up and stroking Tucker quicker, yes, god, yes. “Say my name again.”

“Ah, Felix.”

“Again.”

“Fe-elix!”

“Again!”

“Felix, FUCK!”

Tucker arches off the bed, spine curved sharply as he comes. White explodes behind his eyes, a pulse charge detonating and traveling from his cock to the tips of his fingers. He writhes and whines as Felix allows him to fuck his fist, then slowly settles down. Felix groans and straddles him again, fishing his own erection from his pants and stroking it four times before mixing his come with the rest, painting Tucker’s stomach and chest. He hovers there for a moment, the pair of them breathing harshly, before rolling onto his back beside Tucker. “Jesus Christ,” he snickers.

“Just call me Tucker.”

“Fuck you.” Felix rolls his eyes and sits up after a while, stretching his arms over his head. He leans over and kisses Tucker’s cheek gently, and Tucker’s not a fucking sap, but he can’t help the wide smile. Felix gets to his feet, looking quite steady where Tucker feels like goddamn jello, and retrieves a towel. He tosses it onto Tucker’s stomach before getting undressed properly, grabbing the remote for the small TV on Tucker’s dresser and turning it on like he owns the place. Like he never left.

Tucker cleans himself off, feeling pretty damn satisfied, if he’s being honest. “I’m gonna go get water,” he croaks, realizing his throat is a goddamn desert. “Want anything?”

“You got beer?”

“Yeah.”

Tucker kisses Felix’s temple, earning himself a tease about being soft, before heading to the kitchen. Fuck, yeah, he’s weak on his knees. Felix really did a number on him. Certainly not the way he’d expected the night to go, but then again…he can’t say he's mad about it. He retrieves a glass of water, and drinks half of it in one go.


	3. Chapter 3

Tucker wakes feeling a bit like he has a hangover, despite Felix being the only one to have any of his beer. He feels a little bit sick to his stomach, although it’s more like the swooping sensation of anxiety than actual nausea, which is weird. His body feels like it weighs ten tons. He sighs heavily, glancing to the side and noticing that Felix is still there, dozing. Tucker watches him for a moment, propping his head up on his hand. Felix looks about ten years younger in his sleep.

Last night was not supposed to go the way it did, but Tucker can’t help but be happy. Felix really does seem more level-headed, and last night was so intense…Tucker has to believe that they’re together again for a reason. He’s always been a believer in destiny.

He rolls over to get out of bed eventually, needing to get to work,but is stopped by an arm around his middle. He smiles as he’s pulled onto his back again, remembering very clearly how much Felix hates getting out of bed. “Felix, I don’t have time,” he murmurs, watching as the man climbs on top of him and sleepily rolls his hips against him. “Mmm. I have to leave for work in like, twenty minutes.”

“I won’t take long,” Felix murmurs into his ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down Tucker’s spine. Tucker resists for about thirty seconds before he starts responding, resting his hands on Felix’s hips and rolling his own up to meet him.

Fuck it.

***

Tucker rolls into work ten minutes late and keeps his head down as he speeds through clocking in. Everyone else is already out on the floor opening up, so he hangs up his shit and slides behind the counter like nothing is unusual. Which, of course, means that everyone looks up at once and starts giving him shit.

“Nice of you to join us, Tucker.”

“Simmons counted the cash and was off by a hundred bucks.”

“Does this mean I get to sleep in, too, Wash? Since Tucker can just stroll in whenever he fucking pleases.”

“Shut up,” Wash smirks, coming over to restore order and crossing his arms. “Back to work.” He watches them all with sharp eyes until they go back to their tasks, all still snickering. Tucker huffs, muttering his thanks with his eyes on Wash’s chest. “You alright?” Wash asks, frowning at him. “Traffic this morning?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Tucker lies, and winces as Wash instantly raises an eyebrow. “What?” he snaps defensively, scowling a bit.

“You’re full of shit,” Wash informs him dryly. “It’s not a big deal if you slept through your alarm, Tucker.”

“It wasn’t that,” Tucker groans, rubbing his face. “Look, I just…Felix came over last night.”

Church fucking materializes over Wash’s shoulder. “Uh, what the fuck? Felix?”

“Dude,” Tucker hisses, then sighs as he realizes everyone has already perked up and is now staring directly at them. “Yeah, okay? Felix came over, and we talked, and he…seems to be doing a lot better than he was. We’re…kind of back together.”

Church stares at him like he’s just tried to explain quantum physics. “You’re back together,” he deadpans.

Tucker instantly bristles, lifting his chin. “Yeah. And?”

“And you’re a fucking idiot, Tucker!”

“Hey, fuck you!” Tucker hisses, scowling at him. “I don’t come around and tell you you’re a fucking idiot for chasing Tex around like a thirsty puppy.”

Church’s eyes flash and Wash steps between them quickly. “Alright. Enough,” he snaps. “Church, go back to work. Now.”

Church scowls at him, and they have a short staring contest before Church ultimately mutters and stalks away.

“Don’t,” Tucker snaps warningly as Wash slowly turns to him again. “Don’t even fucking start, Washington.”

Wash just looks at him for a long moment, his cobalt eyes flitting back and forth as he searches Tucker’s face for…something. Tucker’s not sure what, but he wishes he’d fucking find it already. “Come to the back with me,” Wash eventually murmurs, nodding in the general direction of the break room. Tucker rolls his eyes, and his head a bit too, but follows him anyway.

Wash lets them into the break room and shuts the door, turning to face him. “Look, I’m not gonna lecture you. Too much,” Wash snorts, and Tucker can’t help the corner of his mouth raising. “I just want to make sure you’ve thought about this. I know you haven’t been…feeling great.”

“I’ve been fine.”

“…okay. Well, in any case, the break up was bad,” Wash notes, and Tucker nods, unable to argue. “And you dumped him for a good reason. And only two months ago.”

“Yeah, thanks for the play-by-play,” Tucker snarks, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “And?”

“And I’m worried,” Wash presses on, looking into his eyes. Tucker looks at his chin instead. Looks like he nicked himself shaving. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Tucker can’t help softening at that, sighing through his nose. “Look. I appreciate the concern, okay? But I’m a grown man,” Tucker tells him seriously. “I can decide what’s good for me, and what isn’t. And right now, Felix is good.”

“If you say so,” Wash concedes, though Tucker doesn’t miss the grimace in the corners of his mouth. “Just…if you ever need me, you can call me. Okay?”

Tucker nods, smiling slightly. “Thanks, Wash.”

Wash nods, clapping his shoulder and then squeezing it before dropping his arm. Tucker’s skin feels warm where Wash’s palm was. “Come on,” Wash says. “Let’s get back out there before the morning rush comes.”

“Yeah.”

Work sucks, as usual, and Tucker still feels a little weird and hungover. Kind of wound tight, too; he jumps at every loud noise, and gets irritated with customers way more quickly than he usually might. He decides the lack of sleep must be getting to him as he walks to his car at the end of the day, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm.

“Tucker.”

Tucker rolls his eyes and turns, giving Church a dry look as he hurries over. “What?”

“I get it, I get it,” Church huffs, coming to a stop in front of him. “I acted like a jackass back there.”

“Yeah, little bit.”

“But you gotta realize that what you’re doing is fucking stupid.”

Tucker’s tense all over again, and he turns to open the door to his car. “Yep, thanks for the talk.”

“Tucker for fuck’s sake,” Church snaps, pushing the door back open before it can close. “Tucker, he hit you. He called you names, he monopolized your time…he’s bad news. You can’t possibly think this is a good plan.”

“Oh-ho, my fucking god!” Tucker snaps, glaring up at him from the driver’s seat. “Why does everyone act like I’m a little fucking kid that doesn’t know what’s good for him?! I was there, asshole! I’m the one who was getting all the shit, so if I wanna say I forgive him, that’s my fucking business! Now let go of my goddamn door!”

“It’s gonna go to shit,” Church tells him harshly. “And when it does, I’ll say I fucking told you so, Tucker.”

“Yeah, great. I’ll look forward to that. _Move_.”

Church glares at him for another long moment, then scoffs and lets the door go. Tucker slams it immediately and backs up, getting a bit of satisfaction in imagining that he probably almost ran over Church’s toes. Asshole.

***

Tucker texts Felix to come over again when he gets home, still fuming a little about Church. Fucking asshole, what does he know about relationships, anyway? All of his have fucking crashed and burned. Tucker grimaces at himself. Even if Church was a dick, there’s no need for Tucker to be a dick, too. Still…

Tucker’s cooking noodles when he hears the front door open, and smiles slightly as footsteps grow louder until there are arms snaking around his waist from behind. The firm warmth of Felix’s chest presses against his back and Tucker sighs, almost in relief, and turns to face him. He hugs him back, pressing his cheek over Felix’s heart and feeling a thousand times better as the hungover feeling lifts just a bit.

“Missed me that bad, huh?” Felix teases, smirking and pinching Tucker’s cheek. Tucker doesn’t really like that, but he can make small allowances for Felix’s quirks. Felix certainly deals with plenty of his bullshit.

“Yeah,” Tucker admits freely, grinning and pecking his lips. “Dinner’s almost done.”

“Nice.” Felix goes to sit at the table, watching Tucker cook with an appreciative look in his eyes.

“What?”

“…nice sweatpants,” Felix drawls, ogling him openly.

Tucker snorts, feeling his face flush a little and smiling goofily as he turns back toward the stove. “See something you like, Gates?”

“Pretty much everything. Kid still gone…?”

“Don’t even,” Tucker warns him. “If this shit burns I will castrate you.”

“You’d miss my dick too much.”

“I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

Tucker goes back to stirring the noodles to make sure they don’t stick, and it’s quiet for a minute or so. He nearly leaps out of his skin when Felix sneaks up behind him, sticking a hand down the front of his sweatpants and kissing his ear. “You fucker,” he laughs, tilting his head to the side anyway. “I said wait.”

“Don’t wanna. We’ll be quick,” Felix smirks, squeezing Tucker through his briefs.

“That’s what you said this morning,” Tucker pouts as he’s spun around. “And I was late for work. Wash was mad.” Not really, but Tucker’s trying to milk it.

Felix pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Wash. Oh, yeah. The blond one.”

Tucker grimaces, remembering how much Felix had hated Tucker talking to Wash when they were dating before. “Yep. You remember him?”

“Uh huh.” Felix takes his hand away, and Tucker feels cold. “You should get back to cooking.”

Tucker turns around and does so, feeling a little tense. Felix is silent as he goes back to where he was sitting, messing around on his phone, so Tucker takes the time to think through his reaction. He hadn’t shouted, or said anything, really, but Tucker could tell the mention of Wash had irritated him. “Felix,” he says eventually, taking a breath before turning to face him. “Look, just…Wash is my friend. And I know you’re not crazy about him, but I’m not gonna stop talking to him or talking about him. So. Yeah.”

Felix watches him for a long few moments, dead silent and face impassive. Tucker’s heart rate increases a little bit, but he just stares back. All at once Felix smiles, and Tucker blinks in surprise. “Of course, Tucker,” he says warmly. “I would never expect you to dump your friends for me.”

Tucker opens and closes his mouth a few times, taken aback. “Um. Yeah. I mean, alright. Great. Thanks.”

“Of course.” Felix takes Tucker’s hand, tugging him forward and down so he can kiss his forehead. “I love you, Tucker.”

“Heh. Love you, too,” Tucker murmurs back, smiling crookedly.

Felix is normal over dinner, talking shit about the peons at work and his dumbass coworkers, and so Tucker relaxes. Felix really has changed. Mentions of Wash prior to their breakup had frequently ended in screaming matches. Although, to call it a match is a bit forgiving; each party usually has a chance of winning, if it’s a match.

“I’m so fucking exhausted,” Tucker sighs as he collapses onto the couch after dinner. “Junior comes home tomorrow, he’ll be excited to see you.”

“I’ll have to get him something to celebrate,” Felix grins, and Tucker laughs and nudges him.

“Don’t, you always spoil him,” Tucker insists, though the fact that Felix wants to buy shit for his kid makes him swoon like a fucking schoolgirl. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Felix tells him, pulling him close and kissing the shell of his ear. “Let me.”

“Okay,” Tucker agrees, smiling to himself.

Junior is predictably excited to see Felix the next morning when he gets dropped off. Tucker had always shielded him from the worst of the shit when they were dating before, and now hoped that he wouldn’t have to, anymore. Felix has to go shortly after Junior arrives, though, and kisses Tucker goodbye before he goes. Tucker squawks a bit when he squeezes his ass, shoving him slightly.

“Dude, Junior’s right there,” he hisses, thankful that Junior is distracted by something on TV. Felix just snickers and pecks him again before slipping out the door. Tucker shakes his head, locking it behind it before going to sit beside his son.

“How was the weekend? Fun?” he asks, propping up his socked feet on the table. He frowns; the left one has a hole where it big toe is, a bit of skin poking out.

“Yeah, it was good,” Junior nods, curled up in the corner of the couch.

“How’s that neighbor kid? Gloria, right?”

“She’s good.”

Tucker catches the bashful note in his voice _instantly_ , and glances at him with a stopped heart. Oh yeah, he’s staring real hard at the TV. “Oh, yeah?” he prods, grinning a little.

Junior hears the teasing note and glares at him. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird, I’m just asking!” Tucker insists, even as his grin spreads. It’s more cute than it is sad. “Do you like her or something?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Junior snips, crossing his arms.

“Fine like cool, or fine like cute?”

“Dad,” Junior groans, putting his hands over his face. “Stop.”

Tucker snickers, settling back in his seat. “Fine, fine, you don’t wanna talk about it. I think it’s cute that you have a crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on her!”

Tucker yelps as he’s suddenly smacked in the face with a pillow, then bursts out laughing. “Hey!” He scrambles for his own pillow, whacking Junior right back. “I’m still bigger than you, squirt!”

“Yeah, by like two inches!”

Tucker gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest. “Take that back.”

“Nope,” Junior smirks. “You’re short.”

The ensuing pillow fight lasts about three minutes before they’re both giggling too hard to continue. Junior’s ended up on the floor on his back, his hair a mess and panting hard. Tucker’s flopped over on the couch, grinning at the ceiling. “I totally won.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, language,” Tucker says halfheartedly, even though he really doesn’t give a fuck. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza.”

Tucker pauses, considering that. He really is exhausted. Doesn’t feel too hungover anymore, at least, so whatever was wrong has subsided for the moment. Still. “Yeah. Fuck cooking.”

Junior whoops loudly, punching the air while still flat on his back. Tucker smirks and reaches with his foot, pushing down on his stomach and making him cough and cackle. Tucker snickers along with him, accepting the swat to the shin.

An hour later and they’re sitting on the carpet, watching some weird shit Junior likes on Netflix and eating pizza out of the box. They share the 2-liter of Dr. Pepper between them, no cups required. “Hey, dad,” Junior says eventually, eyes still on the TV.

“Yes, offspring?”

“Oh my god,” Junior deadpans, giving him a look. “Anyway. So. Why did you and Felix break up before?”

Tucker almost chokes on his next bite, covering it up at the last second. “Um. Well. Shit was just weird.”

“Weird how?”

Tucker grimaces, not sure how to explain that kind of thing to an eleven year old. “Felix wasn’t happy before, and sometimes he was mean to me to make himself feel better. But he doesn’t do that anymore, so we’re trying again.”

Junior looks away from the screen, frowning at him. “He was mean to you? What does that mean?”

“Just said mean stuff sometimes,” Tucker tells him, glossing over the couple of times he’d been smacked. Those were flukes, no need to freak the kid out. “He’s better now.”

“How do you know for sure? What if he’s mean again?”

“I guess I’ll deal with it then,” Tucker shrugs, trying to appear casual. “We love each other a lot, so we wanna try to be good for each other. You get me?”

“I guess,” Junior shrugs, taking a sip of pop. “If he’s mean to you again, though, I’ll kick his ass.”

Tucker bursts into laughter, grinning and throwing an arm around Junior’s shoulders so he can pull him close. “Yeah, you’ve got my back, kid. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Junior grins, scrunching up his nose as Tucker ruffles his hair.

“Love you.”

“Ugh, dad.”

“Say it back or I’ll cry.”

“Fiiine, I love you too, okay? Ew, don’t kiss my face, gross!”

“Get back here and smooch your father, young man!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: drugs, nsfw, bad BDSM etiquette, dubcon

The next month goes by with Tucker just waiting for the weekend, not to party, but to sleep. The only lights in his life are Junior and Felix, everything else blurring together in his exhaustion. He still isn’t talking to Church that much, mostly because Church is still pissed at him for getting back with Felix and not listening to his mighty wisdom. Fucking Church.

Everyone else whispers about him, as if he can’t hear them, and his teeth grind harder and harder every time he’s asked if he’s okay. Unless it’s Wash. Wash doesn’t condescend to him, Wash wants to know if he’s okay so he can try to help, not so he can tell him that it’s Tucker’s own fault that he feels shitty. They just don’t understand that Felix does help. Well…

Tucker had thought that getting back with Felix and having sex regularly again would give him some much-needed energy back, but he’d forgotten that he frequently feels sick to his stomach after fucking Felix. He isn’t really sure why, figures it’s probably something to do with the intensity. Either way, he feels a little weird afterward, and he’s considering telling Felix about it, but he doesn’t want to make him feel bad. Plus, he has to admit that the killer orgasms are worth it; they usually put him to sleep real fucking quick, even if he wakes up feeling a little funny.

Tucker’s feeling antsy as he waits for Felix to come over; Tucker wonders sometimes, why they never go over to Felix’s, but he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t really matter, he supposes. Junior’s gone again, at a friend’s house from school, and Tucker was so thrilled he had a friend at school that he fucking drove the kid there himself. Now he’s sitting on his couch, feet twitching and leg jiggling and nails scratching absently at his bicep. He’s felt uptight for a week straight, now, and his eye twitch is back, and Wash has suggested that he see a doctor about medication for his insomnia but, fuck that. It’s just sleeping, he doesn’t need help fucking sleeping.

He gasps and jumps when there’s a knock at the door, swearing to himself for the reaction before getting up to answer it. He smiles when he sees Felix, who’s holding out his arms for him and looking goddamn fantastic. Tucker kind of wishes he wasn’t always in fucking pajamas when Felix came over. Tucker slots himself into Felix’s arms, pressing his cheek to his chest and squeezing him slightly. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Felix smiles, kissing the top of his head. “Come on, clingy, let’s go in.”

Tucker lets him go, flushing a little bit. Fuck, he was being clingy. “Sorry,” he says quickly, smiling and letting them both the rest of the way inside. “Having a bad week.”

“Yeah?” Felix asks, taking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket near the door. “Work shit?”

“Nah. I dunno what it is, but I can’t sleep,” Tucker sighs. “And when I do, I wake up feeling shitty. Almost like I didn’t fucking sleep at all.”

Felix hums, coming to sit by him on the couch and rubbing his knee with a warm palm. That leg is jiggling a bit, and Tucker makes a conscious effort to keep it still. “You’re uptight,” Felix notes. It’s not a question.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tucker sighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Felix pulls him close and kisses his temple and Tucker lets his eyes slide closed, relaxing. “That’s shit, baby,” Felix purrs in his ear, making Tucker shiver. “Should I make it better?” He slides his hand down Tucker’s stomach and between his legs.

Tucker grunts and sits up, turning to face him. “Uh. I gotta talk to you about that.”

Felix stares at him, hands slowly falling to his lap. “About what?” he asks, looking unamused.

“Um, sex, actually,” Tucker tells him, forcing himself to look into his eyes. “I’ve been having a really great time, and the sex is great, but I think it might be…too much. At least right now, for me. I feel kinda weird afterward. I think I’m overdoing it, with my shitty sleep and stuff.”

Felix watches him calculatingly, his eyes sharp and boring into Tucker’s in a way that typically either makes Tucker hard or nervous. This time it’s the latter. “Weird how?”

“I dunno like, tense? And kinda sick. I dunno why,” Tucker sighs, looking down and shrugging. “I’m sorry, it really is fun. I do like it. It’s just…I think maybe we should take it easy?”

Felix hums, looking at him for another moment. “I might have something that will help.”

Tucker looks up again, frowning at him. “Uhh, if you’re thinking, like, Viagra, that ain’t the problem, dude.”

Felix snorts and rolls his eyes, leaning over to dig in his overnight bag. “No. It’s to help us both relax.” He pulls out a plastic bag, piecey green buds lining the bottom.

“Dude, you can’t bring pot here,” Tucker hisses. “I have a kid!”

“The kid’s not here,” Felix snorts, scooting closer to him. “Will you get the stick out of your ass for one second? Jesus, when did you get so fucking boring?”

Tucker pulls a face, glancing at the bag. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. You’re right. I just…I don’t know. I haven’t smoked in a while.”

“We won’t smoke that much,” Felix assures him, waving him off. “Just enough to take the edge off. Then maybe you’ll sleep better, and sex won’t be too wild for you.”

Tucker sighs heavily, searching Felix’s eyes for a moment. He looks like he’s completely serious, and his logics seems sound. And honestly, at this point, Tucker will do anything just to be able to fucking rest.

“Fine. One joint,” Tucker warns, giving him a look. “One.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix smirks, getting out his rolling paper and setting up on Tucker’s living room table. Soon they have a joint to share, and Felix lights it while taking a long drag. Tucker watches him, more than a little mesmerized by the rolling billow of smoke flowing from his mouth. “…how the hell do you make that sexy?”

“I can make anything sexy,” Felix drawls, smirking and handing it over. Tucker takes a lengthy hit, holding it in his lungs and kind of enjoying the burn, before tilting his head back and slowly releasing a plume of smoke. “How’s that?” Felix asks, lounging in his seat and watching him.

“I’ll let you know,” Tucker scoffs, taking another inhale before handing the joint back over. That one seems to do it a bit, his head swimming pleasantly. Within minutes his entire body has released, and he’s leaning back against Felix’s chest as they share the bud between them. His mind is quiet, and he feels lighter, and Felix’s hand stroking up at down his stomach feels so good. Not good like sexy, although he’s getting that, too. But it feels comforting, warmer and softer than usual. “Damn. I feel a lot better.”

“Good,” Felix nods, kissing the top of his head again. “You looked like you were gonna combust for a second, there.” He kisses the shell of Tucker’s ear, and Tucker’s eyes flutter, his jaw dropping a bit as it sends and shiver down his back. Felix’s lips move down to the lobe and he nips it, first gently and then a bit more sharply. With the high, it doesn’t hurt as much, just makes Tucker’s hips lift off of the couch.

“That feel good?” Felix murmurs into his ear, and Tucker groans softly, nodding. “Good. Come on.” Felix nudges him up to sit and then gets to his feet, pulling Tucker with him. Tucker’s mostly steady but he does feel a bit like he’s floating, so he keeps a hold on Felix’s hand as they walk to the bedroom, just in case. The joint is still burning between Felix’s fingers.

They pull their clothes off and Felix plants his free hand on the center of Tucker’s chest, pushing him onto his back on the mattress. Tucker goes easily, hands coming up to rest on Felix’s thighs as he straddles him. He watches, entranced, as Felix takes a drag and blows it toward the ceiling, showing off his throat. Tucker reaches to brush it with his fingertips, pulling his hand away when Felix looks down at him again and smirks. He lets Tucker have a hit, then leans forward kiss him. Tucker releases the smoke from his nose, instead, the tendrils curling around them.

“I wanna try something,” Felix murmurs, nipping Tucker’s bottom lip gently and tugging a bit.

“Mm, okay. Wh-ah!” Tucker hisses at a pinching pain in his pec, and realizes a few seconds later that Felix has burned it with the joint. Tucker looks down at the blemish, the skin almost a midnight shade and a little twisted. It doesn’t hurt as much as Tucker would have expected. Felix presses his thumb on it, and Tucker gasps, finding a bit of excitement behind the sting. “Fucking Christ, warn me next time,” he hisses, despite his cock throbbing once in appreciation.

“Sorry.” Felix lights the joint again,as it had snuffed a bit against Tucker’s skin, and keeps it between his lips as he reaches for the nightstand. Tucker’s eyes are on him, following the progress of the paper as it burns closer and closer to Felix’s fingers. Felix seems to notice too, and taps off the ash onto Tucker’s chest.

“Ah, fuck,” Tucker whines, squirming a bit.

“You whine like such a bitch, Tucker,” Felix smirks. “Didn’t know you were into getting burned.”

“N-neither did I,” Tucker pants, eyes closed and cheeks flushing a bit at the tease. He makes an effort to be quieter, biting down on his lips as Felix rolls a condom onto his dick for him.

Felix squeezes a bit of lube onto his finger and reaches back to prep himself, humming low in his chest and letting smoke just roll lazily from his mouth. Tucker stares, jaw hanging slightly, and lifts his hips a couple of times to try and gain some friction. Felix raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him, tapping off more ash onto Tucker’s pelvis. He smirks as Tucker gasps and bucks. “Patience, or I’ll be less careful.”

Tucker groans, though it’s less from frustration and more pure pleasure. He takes a drag when Felix offers it, laying back and letting it sit in his lungs for as long as he can stand before slowly releasing it. His head is officially comfortably empty, and every point of contact is pleasant, even the burns on his skin are a comforting prickle. The air between himself and Felix has gone hazy.

He reaches and presses down on the burn on his chest again, hissing and humming in his throat as he does it again, pinching a nipple at the same time. Felix swears and shuffles back, hovering over Tucker’s dick and then lowering himself. Tucker frowns a bit at how quickly he does it, worried that he’s gonna hurt himself, but Felix just lets out a feral kind of noise that has Tucker bucking up into him instead. Felix seems to agree, starting up a quick rhythm.

It’s fast, and hard, and all Tucker can do is hold onto Felix’s hips as he goes to fucking town. Tucker cries out and arches when Felix presses the last of the joint to his collar, pressing down hard and effectively snuffing out the flame on his skin. It’s burnt so far down that he blisters the tips of his fingers, as well. Felix flicks the roach onto the floor before resuming his riding, planting his hands on Tucker’s shoulders and bracing himself at an angle. He curses harshly and Tucker stretches up to kiss it off his mouth. Felix returns it filthily, his tongue sweet and bitter all at once, and then pushes Tucker back down with a firm hand. He wraps his palm around Tucker’s throat, and Tucker closes his eyes and tilts his head back invitingly

Felix presses down on his wind pipe, slowly but steadily, until Tucker’s air is effectively cut off. It’s no big deal for a moment, just some pleasant pressure, but then Tucker’s lungs start to burn and his mouth opens, but Felix doesn’t stop and Tucker doesn’t ask him to. Felix is still riding him like mad, his eyes sharp and glinting in the lamplight as he and Tucker just stare at each other. Tucker reaches to cup the back of his head, but Felix catches his hand midway and takes two of his fingers into his mouth. Tucker grunts eagerly, unable to make much more noise than that, but fuck, that’s sexy.

After another minute his head starts to pound a little, and then there’s white behind his eyes and a tingling at the back of his skull and he reaches up to tap Felix’s forearm. Felix’s hand doesn’t move, and Tucker’s eyes fly open in panic, but as soon as he does so Felix finally lets go and he can suck in air. He’s coughing a bit, but he’s alright, more than alright as his head swims so violently it seems like the room is spinning. Not even spinning, the room has disappeared and it’s just him and Felix, suspended in space and chasing fucking nirvana.

Felix sits up on his knees and throws his head back when he comes, gritting his teeth and rolling his hips and pulling his own hair. Tucker watches him through lidded eyes, panting still, and follows straight after almost immediately, just from the sight itself. He squeezes Felix’s hips, holding him down as he rides the waves. Felix bats his hands away and climbs off of him, so Tucker strokes himself through the last of the aftershocks.

He lays there with his eyes closed, enjoying the afterglow. He feels warm, and still very floaty and comfortable. He removes the condom at some point, tossing it into the trash while Felix cleans himself up and throws a towel to Tucker. “That was fun,” Tucker says, grinning at him.

“Feel better now?” Felix asks, smirking as he comes back to bed in underwear and a t-shirt of Tucker’s and flops down beside him.

“Yeah.” Tucker glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Felix isn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy, Tucker knows that. So they usually just lay back and chill after they fuck. But Tucker has to admit, he really fucking likes cuddling, so he rolls over and casually lays his head on Felix’s chest while he searches for something to watch on the TV.

He thinks he’s gotten away with it, and is just starting to smile to himself when Felix sighs. “Tucker, it’s way to fucking hot for that.” He rolls his shoulder, effectively nudging Tucker off of him.

Tucker blinks, deposited on the mattress pretty unceremoniously, and swallows as a hurt lump sticks in his throat. Which is fucking stupid, Felix is allowed to not want to cuddle, Jesus. Tucker can’t help it, though, now that’s it’s started, and he sits back with his cheeks burning and the tips of his fingers prickling a bit. “Sorry.”

Felix glances at him, then rolls his eyes. “Hey. Don’t,” he says, leaning over to kiss Tucker’s cheek swiftly. “It’s just hot, alright? Don’t be sensitive.”

Tucker nods, frowning and waving him off and putting on his best casual front. “No, totally. I get it. I wasn’t upset.”

Felix watches him for another moment, and Tucker watches the TV instead, and then Felix sighs and sits back again, shrugging. “Fine.”

Tucker blinks away the stupid, sensitive tears and settles back. He reaches up absently to press his fingers against the burn on his shoulder, closing his eyes and focusing to center himself. It seems to do the trick, as the lump mostly goes away and his eyes stop stinging. After a few minutes Felix slides sideways and rests his head against him, and Tucker can’t help the smile. Just being too sensitive.

Felix falls asleep against his arm at some point, so Tucker reaches to turn off the TV and the lamp and gently ease him to lay down. Once he’s horizontal himself he’s amazed at how comfortable and sleepy he is, even more so than after a good fuck. The high makes him feel like he’s on a fucking cloud, and he doesn’t remember his duvet feeling this fucking soft. Felix shuffles closer, draping a leg and an arm over him, and Tucker sighs sleepily, sticking his nose into Felix’s neck. He falls asleep almost instantly, thinking of nothing at all, and doesn’t move all night.

The next morning, he wakes with the same headache and the same fist twisting his gut.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s a few weeks later, and Tucker’s pissy, from the moment he wakes up. Not his normal kind, either, but the kind that makes him want to bite anyone that dares to speak to him, curl up underneath a thick blanket and just fucking sleep. He even snips at Wash, and doesn’t even have the capacity to feel bad about it. So when the group of them are discussing going out to the bar for the night while closing up the shop, Tucker gives them a mumbled ‘no thanks.’

“Aw, come on, Tucker!” Donut cries, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be fun! You could use some of that!”

Tucker tenses and ducks out from under him, the touch and words putting him on edge. How the fuck would Donut know what he needed? “I’m tired, guys. Sorry, maybe next time.”

They, thankfully, drop it, though he has to look at the floor to avoid the concerned frowns. Wash pauses at the exit, watching him for a while. “…have a good night, Tucker,” he murmurs eventually, before disappearing into the night. Tucker kind of wants to cry, but he isn’t sure what for.

***

“I don’t really feel like cooking.”

Felix snorts, raising an eyebrow at him from the other side of the couch. “Yeah, you haven’t all week.”

Tucker curls up tighter, glaring at the TV. “Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks burning and hugging his knees.

“You apologize too much.”

They’re quiet for a while longer, the lights off except for the stark bulb in the kitchen, and the shadows cast from the shifting light of the TV are dark and vast. Felix scoots closer to Tucker eventually, putting an arm around him. Tucker’s not feeling too wild about touching, but he supposes he can allow the arm. He’s less okay with the lips on his cheek, then his ear, and then down his neck. He leans away, grimacing.

“Sorry,” he says again, without realizing. “I’m…really not in the mood.”

Felix stares at him, then scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Come here,” he says, pulling Tucker into his lap. Tucker grimaces and shakes his head, leaning away again, just a bit. Felix stares at him, then pulls his arm away and nudges Tucker off his lap, turning back toward the TV. “Whatever,” he mutters, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

Tucker stiffens and scowls harder. “Fuck off, alright?” he snips, then instantly regrets it when Felix’s eyes dart to his face and flash.

“What the fuck did you say?” Felix asks, sitting up a little straighter.

“I didn’t mean it,” Tucker insists, clutching his knees harder but frowning defiantly at Felix. “I’m just in a bad fucking mood, alright?”

“Yeah, no shit, Tucker,” Felix snaps, clearly pissed off, and Tucker’s gut sinks. Fuck, he’s done it now. “You’ve been nothing but a whiny bitch all week.”

“Stop calling me fucking names.” Tucker wishes he sounded braver. “You don’t have to be such an asshole.”

“Oh, I’m the asshole?!” Felix is shouting now, and Tucker is so fucking glad that Junior’s around less than he was when he was little. “You’re the one with the fucking attitude!”

“I get it, will you relax? Stop fucking yelling!”

“Don’t _tell me to fucking relax_!”

Tucker jumps at the volume, pressing his back into the couch and releasing his knees so his arms are free. “I’m sorry, alright?! I don’t wanna fight!”

“Fuck you,” Felix snarls, getting to his feet. “I don’t need this shit.”

“What the fuck, you’re leaving?!” Tucker cries, getting to his feet himself. He starts to walk toward Felix, then stops dead when he finds a threatening finger thrust into his face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Felix warns lowly, staring him down. “Sit the fuck down. Now.”

Tucker’s knees are buckling and he’s back on the couch before he realizes it’s his intention, his eyes wide as Felix keeps his finger level with his face. It’s shaking a little, and his knuckles are stark white. Tucker could count the scars on them if he wanted. “Felix, don’t, alright?” he says more quietly. “Can we just talk? This is stupid.”

“I don’t wanna fucking talk to you when you’re like this,” Felix scoffs, heading for the door and snatching up his jacket. “Call me tomorrow.” And with that, he leaves, slamming the door behind him. One of Tucker’s pictures rattles off of the wall and shatters.

Tucker stares at the door for a moment, his heart still going mad. It slowly calms, though that just leaves him with tears the second he can breathe. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, hard enough to see white behind his lids, and then pulls sharply at his hair. Fuck, fuck fuck.

When he’s cried for a moment and reduced himself to pathetic hiccups, he shuffles to the broken frame, his gut twisting when he realizes it’s of him and his parents with Junior, when the kid was barely a week old. He was so fucking small. The glass has spidered over his parents’ faces, and he flips over the frame, taking the picture out with shaky fingers. He leans back against the wall, staring at it as his vision blurs with tears again. Fuck, but he misses them. So much. His mom always knew what to do. He has a feeling she wouldn’t have liked Felix.

That just makes him cry harder, holding the photo tight to his chest and putting his forehead against his knees.

***

Wash is just settling in for bed, sipping water despite only having had a couple of beers with the others, when his phone goes off on the nightstand. He glances at it over the rim of his cup, his gut swooping a bit when he sees the name lit up on the screen. He sighs softly,through his nose, setting the cup aside with a soft clack before holding the phone to his ear.

“Tucker?” There’s no answer, but he can hear breathing, and a bit of sniffling, so he frowns and tries again. “Tucker? Are you alright?”

“No. I mean, yeah,” Tucker mumbles, voice hoarse and loud in Wash’s ear, like he has the mic pressed right up against his mouth. He’s slurring his words a little. “Hadda fight w’Felix.”

“Are you drunk?”

“…no.”

Wash keeps his sigh silent, going to put his pants on again and placing Tucker on speaker phone. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“Yeah, m’home,” Tucker slurs. “Fuck, Wash.”

“I’m gonna come over,” Wash tells him, sticking his feet back into the sneakers he had practically just taken off. He heads toward the door, picking up his keys and shoving them in his pocket. “You just stay there, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Wash nods, keeping Tucker on the phone as he gets into his car and drives to him, fingers drumming the steering wheel anxiously. There’s hardly anyone on the roads. “You should drink some water.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Great, so he’s gonna have to shove water down his throat. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk him into it. “You sound pretty fucked up, how much did you drink?”

“Six pack.”

“…alright.” Jesus. Tucker rarely drinks, and certainly not enough to get this plastered. The fight must have been bad. “Do you feel sick?”

“Nah.”

That would probably change soon. “Okay.I’m pulling into your complex, okay? I’ll be right up.”

“’Kay.”

Tucker doesn’t hang up, so neither does Wash, not until he’s knocked on the door and hears Tucker’s footsteps padding toward him. He sticks the phone in his pocket when the door opens, and he frowns deeply when he sees the state of Tucker, leaning slightly on the door frame with puffy eyes, fingerprints and dried tears on his glasses. He won’t meet Wash’s gaze.

“…Tucker,” Wash says softly.

Tucker bursts into tears.

“Alright, okay,” Wash murmurs, letting himself in and closing the door quietly behind him. “Come on, let’s go sit down. You look a little off center, there.”

Tucker scoffs through his hiccups, wiping his eyes uselessly and scowling. Like he can scare the tears away if he’s angry enough. “Fuck, s-sorry. Such a little fucking bitch.”

“Hey, none of that,” Wash scolds gently, frowning at him. “Come on.” He steers Tucker toward the couch and sits him down firmly. “Stay there, I’m gonna get you some water.”

“I don’t want any.”

“I’m gonna get it anyway.”

Tucker huffs but doesn’t argue further, slumping into the corner of the couch and glowering listlessly at the TV. Wash shuffles into the kitchen, stepping over empty bottles where Tucker had clearly been drinking them on the floor in front of the TV. He’ll pick those up later.

He gets Tucker a tall glass of water, and some crackers from the cupboard while he’s at it. Tucker is still staring into space when he returns, though his eyes do swivel toward Wash when he gets close. It’s dark, Wash realizes, and he leans to flick on the lamp. Tucker frowns and hides his face in a pillow.

“Here,” Wash says, setting the drink and crackers beside him on the table. “Have some of that.”

Tucker ignores the crackers completely, but he does take a begrudging sip of water. As he does his eyes well up again, and Wash sits beside him. He wraps an arm around his shoulders when he starts sniffling again, and blinks in surprise when Tucker turns and throws his arms around his middle. “Fuck, Wash,” he croaks, his shoulders shaking a bit. “I feel so messed up.”

“What happened?” Wash asks, brows knitted deeply. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Tucker mumbles, shaking his head. His cheek brushes Wash’s chest three times as he does so, and Wash tightens his hold as his heart tugs. “Just yelled.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been in a mad mood.” He says it like it’s any kind of explanation.

“And? What does that have to do with it?”

Tucker looks up, giving him a weird look. “He got tired of me, obviously. He can join the fucking club, too. I’m so sick of this shit.”

“Tucker, this is _wrong_ ,” Wash murmurs urgently, looking into his glazed eyes. “You shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t make you feel like this.”

“Jus’ need t’sleep,” Tucker slurs,leaning on him slightly. “I’m so fucking tired, Wash.”

“Is this how you sleep?” Wash asks, nodding toward the bottles. Tucker is dead silent, and Wash fights the urge to slap a palm to his forehead. “Tucker, _no_.”

“I don’t do it all the time,” Tucker argues, wiping his eyes and looking away. “Just when Felix is over, mostly. He likes to chill out. It’s really not that bad, I dunno why I called you.”

“Because you were upset and wanted to. That’s okay, Tucker. It’s always okay.”

Tucker swallows thickly, resting nearly his entire body weight on Wash, and Wash leans so his back is comfortably against the arm of the couch. Tucker takes the opportunity to slot himself against Wash’s body, resting his head on Wash’s chest and basically using him as a human fucking mattress. Wash just knows his ears are bright red. He pulls Tucker’s glasses off, carefully folding them up and setting them on the side table.

“You’re a good friend,” Tucker murmurs, cheek smashed on Wash’s chest and eyes closed. “I’m sorry I’m such a piece of shit.”

“You’re not,” Wash argues softly, holding him tighter as if to protect him. And fuck it, he would. He’d protect Tucker from the devil himself. He wonders if he might have to, after all.

Tucker lays there for a while, silent, and Wash props up pillows behind himself so he’s more comfortable. It’s almost intimate, lying on Tucker’s couch in the lamplight, no noise except Tucker’s breath and the wind softly whistling outside the window. He’s been to Tucker’s place a million times, now, but Wash still finds something new to look at whenever he comes over. Tucker’s walls are covered in stuff, records and pictures and weird-ass decor, a lot of it stuff he got simply because it looked like a dick. Junior is fucking everywhere, along with pictures of Tucker’s parents, who Wash never got to meet, and all of he and Tucker’s friends from work. He sees himself in a couple of shots. He lifts the corner of his mouth fondly, though it falls just as fast as he notices one picture is shattered. Must’ve been Felix. He slides his fingers carefully into Tucker’s hair and massages his scalp.

Tucker starts crying again at some point, but it’s silent, and Wash only knows because his shirt is getting a little wet and Tucker’s shaking. He frowns sadly and rubs slowly circles on Tucker’s back, resting his chin on top of his head. Fuck if he knows what else to do. He can’t say he blames Church for being panicked about Tucker’s choices, but he’s always been too fucking aggressive, even when he’s trying to be caring. Wash is more than aware of how Tucker shuts down when he thinks he’s being talked down to, how every bit of well-meaning advice can be another brick in the wall between you and him.

Still, Wash isn’t sure how much more of this he can allow to go on. Tucker is an adult, none of them can force him to stop seeing Felix. But if they don’t, Felix could get like he was before, violent and angry, and Tucker could be in danger. Tucker might already be in danger, for all Wash knows, but he just hasn’t said anything. Wash holds Tucker a little closer, and realizes he’s fallen asleep, the tears ceased for now. Wash lays his head back, watching the ceiling as he just lets him. Tucker hasn’t slept right in fucking months, and hell if Wash is going to interrupt him now. He resigns himself to sticking around for an hour or so, even though it’s now approaching three in the morning.

He nods off halfway through the first hour, chin to his chest and lips almost brushing Tucker’s head as he sleeps, dead to the world tucked safely against Wash’s chest.

***

Wash wakes the next morning to Tucker rolling off of him and making a beeline for the bathroom. He sits up himself, rubbing his sleepy eyes before shuffling after him, grimacing at the loud heaving. He peeks into the bathroom, finding Tucker slumped over the toilet and coughing. Wash sighs quietly and kneels beside him, reaching to carefully gather Tucker’s dreads in his hands and hold them out of the way. It’s several minutes before Tucker finally stops heaving, slumping to rest with his back against the tub.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he rasps, his throat clearly raw.

Wash shakes his head at him, getting up and filling the cup near the sink with water. “Don’t be. It’s okay. Here.” He hands it over, and Tucker rinses his mouth out into the toilet before starting to sip.

“Can’t believe I called you,” he scoffs, shaking his head. He doesn’t seem to want to look at Wash. “It was just a fight, it wasn’t even that bad.”

Wash is quiet for a while, sitting close enough that their shoulders are touching and resting his forearms on his knees. “Do you guys fight a lot?”

Tucker shrugs, his eyebrows pulling in. “Not really? I dunno. All couples argue.”

“Yeah. But does he yell every time? And I saw that shattered glass by the door.”

Tucker tenses visibly, and Wash knows he needs to tread carefully, now. “That was an accident. He just slammed the door too hard.”

“Tucker…he shouldn’t be slamming doors in the first place.”

“It was just a fight,” Tucker repeats, and Wash wonders which of them he’s talking to. “It’s not a big deal. Everything’s fine.”

“I’m not gonna argue with you, Tucker,” Wash murmurs, watching his profile. “Just…you gotta remember there’s people that care about you, alright? There’s places you can go. If you need them.”

Tucker clenches his jaw, holding the glass a little tighter, then releases all at once. His shoulders slump and he sighs through his nose. His eyes look dull. “…yeah. Thanks, Wash.”

Wash nods, looking away from him so he doesn’t feel like he’s being stared at. Tucker finishes his water, and Wash helps him to his feet so he can brush his teeth. He sits Tucker down at the small table in the kitchen, making them both breakfast in the continued silence. He starts up the coffee first, making it extra strong, and then retrieves eggs, toast, and bacon. Easy stuff to eat. “You have hot sauce, right?” Wash asks, searching the cupboards.

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Tucker asks, smirking a little bit. He still looks tired, but the light is back in his eyes. Wash buries the sigh of relief. “Cupboard, down and to the left of the stove.”

“Got it.”

Wash cooks for them both, and Tucker seems content to just let him, although he does get up and make their coffees once it’s done brewing. He sets a mug beside Wash, the perfect shade of warm tan, and Wash has to stifle the urge to kiss his cheek for it. Sue him, coffee is his soft spot.

He and Tucker both annihilate their breakfasts with hot sauce and eat in mostly comfortable silence, although Tucker keeps glancing at Wash once a minute and shifting around. Wash just keeps his cool, not wanting Tucker to think it was weird for him to call, or weird to fall asleep on him, or cry on him, because Wash wants him to feel able to do that. Wash wants to be there for him, Wash…well. Wash has some feelings to work through, probably, given Tucker isn’t exactly single or interested.

And it hurts, a little bit, to share something as simple as coffee and breakfast in the early morning, birds singing softly and the light still a gentle shade of gray, without being able to have the rest. His brain can’t help wandering to reaching across to hold Tucker’s hand, linking his ankle with Tucker’s underneath the table, dancing in the middle of the kitchen while their food starts to burn a bit.

Wash doesn’t think he’d trade this, though. He’d rather have a taste than nothing at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: abuse, ignoring safe words, dubcon, being trapped in the dark

As it turns out, it’s a lot easier to do a lot of shitty things when you’re stoned.

Tucker figures this out and, while he still refuses to smoke or drink while Junior is at home, indulges hard when Felix is around. There hasn’t been another fight since the day Felix stormed out, and he even paid to replace the shattered picture frame. Tucker doesn’t say a fucking word about calling Wash, Wash coming over, and especially not about Wash staying the night.

So Felix is around, stays days at a time when Junior is away, and Tucker’s weekends consist of hazy thoughts, fucking, and sleep. He’s at least catching up on sleep during the weekend, mostly because Felix almost refuses to let him leave the bed. Not that he minds, too much. The sex is fucking incredible, he thinks, hands braced in front of him on the bedframe, up on his knees while Felix fucks him and bites up and down his back. He knows he’s gonna have marks from that, and he can’t say he’s upset about it. He’s got marks everywhere, from Felix, but none that anyone else can see. That’s his only rule. He really doesn’t wanna have to explain a hickey to an eleven year old, and especially not to the cockbites he works with.

The two of them don’t stay in bed, for once, after it’s over. They’re both a little stoned, still, so Felix gets them both snacks and shitty cocktails so they can relax on the couch. It’s Saturday evening, but Tucker has to work in the morning, so his weekend is technically ending already. He’s trying to savor it while he can, sipping the drink Felix hands him and scooting to sit as close as he can get away with. Felix will pull him closer if he wants to.

“I really can’t be late tomorrow,” Tucker tells him at some point. “Wash is gonna kill me. He lets me get away with too much shit to begin with.”

Felix gives him a sideways look, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tucker blinks at him, running through the sentence again in his head and trying to see where he went wrong. “Nothing? What did I-”

“You said he lets you get away with shit,” Felix snorts, his hand slowly clamping on the back of Tucker’s neck. Normally the gesture makes something warm settle in Tucker’s chest, but tonight, it’s ice down his spine. “That supposed to make me jealous or something?”

“Dude, no,” Tucker scoffs, then realizes Felix probably won’t like being laughed at and changes his tune. “Nah, of course not,” he tries again, more warmly. “You know there’s nothing going on, babe, we’re just really close friends. So he’s more lenient.”

Felix watches him for a moment, then purses his lips and looks back toward the TV. He doesn’t release his hold on the nape of Tucker’s neck. “You really gotta watch what you say, babe. People can get the wrong idea.” He presses a kiss to Tucker’s cheek bone. He smells of whiskey and tobacco.

Tucker nods, more than a little relieved that that hadn’t escalated. “Yeah. Sorry. You’re right.”

***

“So, what’s everyone up to, tonight?” Donut asks cheerfully, wiping down the counters during closing time.

“Jack shit,” Grif snorts, Simmons nodding along sagely. “It’s gonna be kickass.”

“Same,” Wash smirks. He’s looking forward to it, too. He hasn’t had an actual day off in a while that didn’t include interacting with other people.

“What about you, Tucker?” Donut chirps, smiling brightly at Tucker. Wash look at him too, frowning a bit. He’s been in a marginally better mood, lately, although he’s still tired a lot and looks like he may have lost a little weight.

“Felix is picking me up from work,” Tucker says, looking straight into Donut’s eyes like he’s daring him to say something. Wash grimaces as he sees Church visibly tense in the corner of his eye. “We’re going out.”

“Well, that’ll be fun,” Donut nods, though Wash can tell he’s fighting the urge to grimace. They all fucking hate Felix. It’s a hot topic on nights out when Tucker isn’t there, which are more and more frequent.

“Yeah, should be good,” Tucker agrees, going back to what he was doing and turning his back on the others. Aggressively pretending he doesn’t see the looks.

“He gonna make you pay for everything this time? Again?” Church asks sarcastically, and Wash shoots him a look. _Really?_

 _What?!_ Church eyes say back, and Wash can practically hear the crack in his voice.

“No, asshole,” Tucker snips, not looking at him. He’s restocking tonight, and shoves bags of coffee onto the shelf aggressively. Wash is a little nervous he’s gonna bust one open with the force he’s putting behind it.

Closing time is quiet, after that, Church apparently deciding he doesn’t wanna have it out with Tucker just yet. Wash knows that that’s probably only a matter of time. They’re all just coming out of the break room with their jackets on when Felix waltzes through the door, like he fucking owns the place. Wash can almost feel the collective mood darken, his own face settling into a slight scowl at the sight of him. Felix either doesn’t notice or doesn’t give a shit, heading straight for Tucker and throwing an arm over his shoulders.

“Hey babe,” he greets with a crooked grin, completely ignoring the rest of them.

“Hey,” Tucker replies with a smile, tucking himself against Felix’s side. Wash feels a silly, foolish pang of jealousy as he remembers what it feels like to have Tucker that close. How warm and firm he is, how soft and steady his heart beats while he sleeps. He sincerely hopes Felix fucking appreciates what he has. Who he has.

Wash doesn’t realize he’s staring until he makes eye contact with Felix. He’s about to quickly look away, but Felix just stares at him, his brows set low as he tilts his head down and a bit to the side. Like he’s challenging Wash. To what, Wash isn’t sure. “Oh, hey, Wash,” Felix says with false brightness, his mouth spreading into an unnatural kind of smile. The kind that one would imagine has fangs behind it.

“Hey, Felix,” Wash replies coolly, not giving the fucker the pleasure of intimidating him. The guy’s a twig. Wash could break him over his fucking knee if he wanted. “You guys up to something fun tonight?”

“Hell yeah, we’re going to that sushi place downtown,” Tucker tells him, grinning. “You know. That place where you got sick on sake.”

“Fuck you,” Wash smirks, unable to help teasing despite Felix being right there, staring him down like a fucking tiger ready to pounce. The twinkle in Tucker’s eyes is enough for him to throw caution to the wind. “I told you, it was food poisoning.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Tucker grins, nudging him gently in the ribs. “It’s okay if you can’t handle your drink, Wash, we’re all friends here.”

Felix puts on an even wider smile and turns Tucker abruptly away from Wash, steering him toward the door. Tucker blinks but doesn’t argue, just glances over his shoulder with an apologetic look.

“Well, we gotta get going. Reservation,” Felix announces loudly as they walk. He glances over his shoulder, holding Wash’s eyes as he kisses the top of Tucker’s head slowly, deliberately. “Bye, Wash,” he smirks, before the pair of them disappear out the door.

“Motherfucker,” Church mutters at his shoulder.

Wash nods slowly, unable to argue with that.

“Motherfucker.”

***

Tucker’s back is stiff as a board all through dinner.

Felix is being…weird, and it’s putting Tucker on edge. He’d been unusually quiet on the drive over, and isn’t saying much as they eat, either. Tucker keeps glancing at him in between bites and sips of sake, but Felix just gives him an empty sort of smile every time. The lighting in the restaurant is fucking weird. Tucker assumes it’s an attempt at being modern, but all it does is cast heavy shadows on Felix’s face, and highlight every hair that’s out of place.

“Um. How’s your food?”

“Good.”

“Good,” Tucker nods, looking down at his plate. “You’re…kinda quiet. Tired?”

“Yeah. Had a long day.” Felix fixes him with a long look, then, his eyes piercing. “Missed you.”

Tucker blinks up at him, then smiles a bit at the look in his eyes. “No undressing me with your eyes at dinner, Gates,” he teases. “Keep it in your pants.”

“Bet you’d like that, if I didn’t.”

“Felix, oh my god.”

“What? You telling me you’d say no if I told you to go to bathroom, strip, and wait for me?”

Tucker shifts around a bit in his seat, glancing over Felix’s shoulder. “Dude. Seriously. The other tables are like, really clo- holy fuck,” he gasps, going still as he feels Felix’s foot trailing along the inside of his thigh. “I fucking hate you. Stop it,” he hisses, though he can’t help the slight nervous laugh. “You’re a fucking perv.”

Felix smirks, lowering his foot and sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. “I’m not the one getting hard off a little footsie, Tucker.”

Tucker blushes and takes a large gulp of sake, looking around. Thankfully, no one appears to have heard them. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“Hm. Guess I am.”

***

Tucker finds himself slammed up against the door of his apartment as soon as it shuts. Felix’s thigh is between his legs, and Tucker grinds against it as Felix’s mouth works to suck a hickey onto his neck. “F-Felix, ah,” he gasps, arching. “Ahh, no marks w-where Junior can see.”

Felix responds by biting the mark he’s made, hard, before letting him go. “Bedroom,” he commands, voice low and a little gravelly. Tucker spins around and practically jogs, jumping when Felix swats his ass as they go.

“Jesus, feisty tonight?”

“Shut up,” Felix murmurs, smirking and pushing Tucker onto the bed. He pulls Tucker's clothes off efficiently, note even giving Tucker a moment to shuffle and help. “Spread your arms and legs. Wider.”

Tucker shuffles to obey, swallowing as Felix just looks at him, still standing and fully clothed. “Uh, you coming, or what?”

“I said, shut up.” Felix crosses to the closet, digging inside until he finds the bag of bondage shit that they keep close at hand. He pulls out four ropes and quietly gets to work binding Tucker’s ankles and wrists to the bedposts.

“Oh, shit, okay,” Tucker grins. “Gettin’ freaky tonight.”

Felix looks up at him, not smiling, but he does crawl onto the bed and straddle Tucker’s waist. “Yeah. Tell me what you want, Tucker.”

“I want your dick, just like always,” Tucker grins. “And that ass, I mean, damn.”

Felix is silent, his head cocked slightly. “No, Tucker,” he murmurs eventually, fingers trailing down Tucker’s pelvis. “Tell me what you actually want.”

“Uh. I don’t know wh-ah, FUCK!” Felix has grabbed Tucker’s balls in his fist, squeezing them hard and sending sharp pain throughout his groan and stomach. “Fuck, RED, Felix, RED! That fucking hurts!”

Felix doesn’t let go.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed what a fucking geek you are for Wash?” Felix asks, almost like he’s being playful. Tucker gasps, starting to sweat as he tries not to fucking puke. “You’re always talking about him, I mean, _always_. It’d be cute if it weren’t for the fact that, well, you’re dating me.”

“I’m not!” Tucker chokes, shaking a little and speaking through his teeth. “Felix, fuck, please stop.”

“Why should I?” Felix snaps. “I fucking saw you tonight when I picked you up. You two think you can just fuck with me like that and I won’t do anything about it?”

Tucker gasps and groans as Felix’s tone sends his anxiety spiking even higher. He can’t breathe right, now, and the corners his eyes are wet with tears. “Felix, I didn’t, I wasn’t, stop!”

Felix scowls at him for another moment, then finally lets him go. Tucker coughs and convulses, but thankfully doesn’t throw up. Thank fuck for that; he’d have had no way to roll over if he did. His eyes go wide as Felix looms over him. He hasn’t made a move to release Tucker from the bed.

“I’ve told you before you need to watch what the fuck you do, Tucker,” Felix tells him lowly. “People could get the wrong idea.” He turns and walks toward the bedroom door, and Tucker whimpers, still breathing a little unsteadily.

“Felix, wait, wait, you have to untie me.”

Felix snorts, glancing over his shoulder at him. “I don’t have to do shit, Tucker. I’ll come back when I feel like it.”

“Felix, wait! Isaac!”

The lights go off, the door closes, and the air suddenly seems thinner. Tucker looks up at the ceiling, the only place he can look without straining his neck to much, but there’s nothing. It’s just black, no indication that Tucker is in a room rather than floating, lost in space, or trapped in a space so small he can’t escape. To his hysterical mind, there is no way of knowing, and he feels like he’s going to die.

He’s shaking head to toe, unable to move except to toss his head back and forth, so he does, over and over until he’s dizzy. The panic attack slowly subsides on it’s own, but he’s still shaking. He realizes his cheeks are drenched when they start to get cold, the air drying them slowly. He tries to wiggle his ankles and wrists, but the knots are tight, and all he manages to do is give himself rope burn.

He tries calling Felix’s name a few times, but he knows that’s futile before he even begins. Something sick and heavy settles in his stomach the longer he lays there. He’s angry, so fucking angry and humiliated, but for some reason all he wants is for Felix to hold him close and tell him he forgives him. Because…yeah, maybe he has been flirting with Wash a little. And maybe Tucker does talk about him a lot. And he knows that kind of shit annoys Felix, but he does it anyway, because he wants to. Because he’s fucking selfish, because Wash is…

Tucker wants him there, he realizes. He wants Wash to burst in, cut him loose and just fucking hold him until he stops shaking. And that just makes him want to cry all over again, because he can’t have that. Wash doesn’t want it, and he’s with Felix. And despite the fact that Felix has done this to him, he knows Felix still loves him. And he loves Felix. They both just need…time. To get used to each other, again.

Tucker knows that’s bullshit too, and he grimaces at himself as he thinks it. He remembers, vaguely, laying on the couch with Wash, sharing his head and sleeping on his chest. That’s what he wants with Felix, what he sometimes has with Felix. He just wishes he could have it all the time. But maybe…maybe Felix isn’t built like that. Maybe Tucker needs to stop trying to make him into something, or someone he’s not.

_It’s gonna go to shit, Tucker. And when it does, I’ll fucking say I told you so._

Tucker shakes his head, sniffling up at the ceiling. This was over the line. Way over the fucking line. Felix had smacked him, punched him, shoved him a couple of times, but nothing was as scary as this. Being stripped of his freedom, his agency, leaving him helpless in the dark. This…this is fucking bullshit.

Tucker’s wrists are starting to go numb, and testing the ropes sends him into another panic attack. He sobs toward the ceiling, eyes blinking into the pitch dark, shouting Felix’s name again through the tears. No one comes for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Self Harm

The door cracks open, and Tucker squints into the sliver of gold. The lights flicker on overhead, and Tucker blinks, having been in the dark for…must’ve been at least a couple of hours. Maybe more, fuck if he knows. Felix approaches the bed, silent, and Tucker watches him with wide eyes and body tense. As if he could do anything; his arms and legs are still fucking bound. His hands and feet have fallen asleep ages ago.

Felix slowly moves around the bed, untying all of the knots and putting the rope back into the black bag from the closet. Tucker grimaces and rolls his ankles and wrists, hissing at the stiffness. He sits up, his shoulders and knees and hips protesting as they bend, and curls up. For some reason, he doesn’t wanna be naked, right now. He presses his back against the wall, hugging his knees.

Felix doesn’t stop him, but he does reach for Tucker’s left wrist, taking it in his hand. Tucker tenses, expecting a tight grip and fingernails digging into his skin, but it’s careful and gentle. Felix’s fingers curl around his wrist delicately, and he watches them, eyes on the way the pad of Felix’s thumb compresses as it brushes against the angry scrapes from the rope. Felix has a bottle of disinfecting lotion, and he squeezes a dollop onto his fingers before rubbing it carefully on the faint red ring around Tucker’s wrist.

Despite the gentle care, Tucker is still tense. He’s torn between wanting to throw himself into Felix’s arms and fall asleep there, and tell him to get the fuck out of his apartment. He allows Felix to finish in the meantime, nodding when Felix tells him he’s done.

“Come on,” Felix says quietly. “Let’s get drinks.”

Tucker swallows thickly, finding himself following the instruction without even realizing. Felix leads the way down the dark hall, and Tucker trails along like he’s magnetized. He hovers in the doorway, watching as Felix makes them both cocktails like nothing happened. His hair is fucked up, like he’s had his fingers in it, and his shirt looks a little looser at the collar. Tucker clenches his jaw the longer he stands there, his arms crossing tighter across his chest and digging his own nails into his biceps. “Felix. Get out.”

Felix pauses mid-pour, setting the bottle down slowly and then turning toward him with flashing eyes. “What?”

“Get out,” Tucker repeats, though it’s quiet. “I…I don’t want you here, right now. I have to think.”

Felix stares at him, then slowly advances on him. “Really? After all the shit you put me through tonight, you’re gonna tell me to _get out_?”

Tucker glares back, his jaw clenching tighter. He tries to hide his trembling, because fuck that. He’s not scared of Felix. He refuses to be scared of Felix. “I think we both need…a minute. To cool off. Tonight was too far.” He keeps his voice as even as he can, and is proud when it only wavers once.

Felix narrows his eyes, looking Tucker up and down slowly. “You’re a real piece of work, Lavernius Tucker,” he mutters darkly, and Tucker swallows as a lump of shame settles in his throat. “Fine. I’ll go. You might wanna put some fucking clothes on, you look like a slut.”

Tucker physically flinches at the name, biting his lips and closing his eyes as Felix brushes past him. He doesn’t open them again until the door slams. No picture falls, but Tucker does, straight to his knees. He braces himself on the linoleum of the kitchen floor, trying to breathe deeply. After a few moments he realizes he’s only been inhaling and holding, inhaling and holding, and he lets out a heavy sigh of breath to try and regulate it. Fuck, fuck, he’s freaking out. He stays on the floor until his knees start to ache, then uses a heavy hand on the counter to pull himself to his feet again.

He stumbles into the bedroom, gasping a bit, and gets a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror; naked, covered in bruises, bites, and old burns. He does look like a slut. He looks like fucking trash. The corners of his mouth turn down and his eyes burn as he turns away, digging into his nightstand and pulling out the bag of pot Felix had left behind. Felix taught him how to roll, once, so he does, sloppily and with shaky fingers. He struggles with the lighter as well, but eventually manages to light the joint while taking a short drag; he’s still not breathing too well. He holds it in his chest for as long as he can, closing his eyes as he imagines that he can feel it swirling and burning inside of his lungs, and then slowly lets it out from between his teeth.

After a few more hits he’s calmer, at least, but the sick, angry feeling doesn’t go away. He scratches his arm wit his free hand while he smokes, leg jiggling agitatedly. He shuffles to stretch out on the bed, lays there for a moment, and his heart rate immediately spikes again. Fuck that fucking bed. He stands, getting away from it, and takes the duvet with him as he shuffles out to the living room. He somehow manages not to burn anything as he goes, except for the couple of times he drops ash on himself. He doesn’t really care about that, though, and just brushes it off absently.

He flops onto the couch, a pile of limbs and linen, and continues working at the joint. He’ll have to open some windows and burn some candles before Junior gets back. His eyes well up at the thought of Junior seeing him like this, knowing what his dad is actually like, the kind of shit his father puts up with on a daily basis. He takes the joint out of his mouth and presses the burning end firmly to his skin.

He hisses sharply, gritting his teeth, but he does it a few more times anyway. Helps him forget to panic, he supposes. Treating burns is better than treating panic attacks; at least he knows that the antiseptic fucking works.

***

There’s a knock at the door early the next morning, and Tucker answers it to find Felix and an over-sized bouquet.

“What do you want?” Tucker asks quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“To talk,” Felix replies, just as soft. He sounds sad, tired. “To apologize.”

Tucker clenches his jaw, but lets him in, because he’s a fucking idiot. He’s always been fucking weak for Felix. The pair of them hover in the entryway, Tucker not willing to allow much more than that. He won’t make the guy stand in the hall, but he also isn’t exactly feeling hospitable. “So,” Tucker prompts tensely. “Talk.”

“…I got you these,” Felix mumbles, holding out the bouquet and looking up at Tucker through his eyelashes.

Tucker sighs through his nose and takes the flowers, but he just holds onto them, blocking Felix’s entrance into his apartment with his body. “That’s great, Felix. But you know that doesn’t fix anything. Not even close.”

“I know,” Felix croaks, looking at the floor. “I…I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so jealous.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tucker interrupts, holding onto the flowers more tightly. “What you did…that was fucked up, Felix. People don’t do that to people they love.”

“I do love you,” Felix argues, his eyes shiny now, and Tucker forces himself to look away.

“To be honest, dude? I don’t fucking believe you.”

Felix’s face crumples, and he sinks slowly to his knees. Tucker is reminded of himself, and it makes him feel a little sick. Tucker blinks as suddenly there are arms around his middle, Felix’s forehead pressed to his stomach, and he goes stock still.

“Please,” Felix sobs, making fists in Tucker’s t-shirt and shaking. “Please. I love you so much, Tucker, I’m so sorry.”

“Felix,” Tucker breathes, his heart clenching at the sight and sound of Felix breaking. “Oh, God, don’t,” he chokes, dropping the flowers and wrapping his arms around Felix’s head and shoulders. “Babe, don’t. Get up.”

Felix doesn’t, holding him tighter. “Please don’t leave me, Tucker. You promised you wouldn’t, please don’t. I love you.”

“Isaac, please get up,” Tucker repeats, pulling him gently. He won’t, so Tucker falls to his knees instead. “Hey. Look at me.”

Felix does, his dark eyes shining and red and puffy around the edges. Tucker swallows, wiping away his tears. “We’re gonna be okay,” Tucker promises, his voice a little shaky. “We’re gonna be better, now.”

Felix nods, kissing Tucker firmly, and Tucker hugs him tight. Fuck, this is fucked up. Felix is clearly fucked up, and so is he. Maybe they deserve each other, Tucker muses, kissing the top of Felix’s head and holding him close to his chest. Maybe they’re just a couple of fuck-ups who were supposed to find each other and make each other miserable so the world could be spared.

***

Tucker sits in the quiet, Felix’s head in his lap. He fell asleep while they were watching TV, exhausted from nearly two hours of make-up sex on the couch. Tucker had declined going to the bedroom, the idea of being on his back on the bed still a little too nerve-wracking. He figures he’ll get over it once the shock has worn off. Until then, he has his pillow and duvet and the couch pulled out into a bed; he knew getting a futon was a good idea, even if Church made fun of him at the time.

Tucker has to admit that he’s feeling equally as exhausted as Felix, but he’s decided to enjoy the peace instead of sleep. The TV is off, now, and the only sound is the clock ticking on the wall and Felix’s soft breathing. Tucker keeps an arm around him, petting his hair gently so as not to wake him.

He can’t remember the last time Felix cried like that. Or if he ever has. Tucker gets a little choked up all over again remembering Felix on his knees, sobbing and hugging him and begging him not to leave. Tucker feels awful, because he was thinking about it. He still feels uneasy, if he’s honest. Felix is volatile, and it’s driving Tucker insane. He isn’t sure if he can survive this relationship if it’s going to continue to be like last night.

But…Felix promised. He said he didn’t know what he was thinking, that he’d lost it and felt sorry for what he’d done. And Tucker had promised, too, promised months ago that he’d never leave again. And then they’d kissed, and made love so slowly and sweetly that Tucker cried all over again.

At what point can you justify abandoning someone who needs you, to protect your own mental health? Tucker doesn’t know, and he isn’t sure he deserves to find out. He’s driven Felix to this point, after all, with his flirting and talking about Wash constantly. If Felix had been talking incessantly about some other guy, Tucker might not have liked it, either.

God, he’s so fucking confused.

He pulls out his phone with only half a mind, pulling up Wash’s name and almost hitting call before realizing fucking Felix is right there, curled up napping in his lap. Tucker’s thumb hovers over the screen, and he swipes to send a text instead.

_hey (Sent 2:32pm)_

_Hey, Tucker. How was your date? (Received 2:32pm)_

Tucker swallows, looking down at Felix. He can’t tell Wash about the bed thing. There’s no fucking way. That has to stay between himself and Felix, or shit will hit the fucking fan, and Wash will blame himself. They have to figure that part out on their own. But…Tucker still needs help.

_good (Sent 2:33pm)_

_we had a talk about us. Like the relationship and shit (Sent 2:33pm)_

_How did that go? Any fights? (Received 2:34pm)_

Tucker fights the urge to scoff, a lump settling in his throat.

_nothing too bad (Sent 2:34pm)_

_im just not sure if_ \- he backspaces, tries again.

_sometimes it feels like its never gonna get better and_ \- backspace. Try again.

_how do you kno when it’s time to let someone go (Sent 2:36pm)_

There’s a brief pause.

_Can I call you? (Received 2:36pm)_

_better not felix is here (Sent 2:37pm)_

There’s another pause, more than a minute long, and Tucker looks out the window in the meantime. It’s overcast, today, a tiny sprinkling of rain flecking the glass. He looks back down, and Wash has begun typing again.

_I think that if someone is causing you more pain than they’re giving you joy then it’s time to let go. But you’re the only one who can know for sure. (Received 2:39pm)_

Tucker makes a move to reply, but pauses as Wash types some more.

_Sometimes, even if you love each other, it’s just not worth it. The person you’re with should make you feel good, and you should be able to trust them with your anger and your bullshit without them flying off the handle. If you can’t, then it’s time to rethink. That’s my opinion, anyway. (Received 2:40pm)_

Tucker pauses for a moment, chewing the inside of his bottom lip and his thumbs hovering over the screen. He lifts the corner of his mouth a bit, laughing softly through his nose as he replies.

_since when did you become a relationship guru ;) (Sent 2:40pm)_

_Funny, Lavernius. (Received 2:41pm)_

_I’ve just had a shitty relationship or two. (Received 2:41pm)_

_yeah i know (Sent 2:42pm)_

_thanks for the advice (Sent 2:42pm)_

_seriously (Sent 2:42pm)_

_Anytime, Tucker. (Received 2:42pm)_

_Are you alright? (Received 2:44pm)_

_yeah im good. just thinking about some shit i guess (Sent 2:45pm)_

_If you’re sure. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. (Received 2:45pm)_

_yep see you (Sent 2:46pm)_

Tucker sets his phone on the side table, rubbing his tired eyes. Wash may be awkward, but he knows what the fuck he’s talking about like, 98% of the time. He never gives advice on shit he has no idea about. It’s why Tucker always asks him about shit first.

The pain and joy ratio is certainly something for Tucker to chew on. He’s not too sure what exactly the ratio is with himself and Felix. On one hand, Felix has done some really fucked up shit. But then, Tucker has also fucked with Felix. And then when things are good, they’re so fucking amazing. Felix is funny, and spoils Junior, even spoils Tucker sometimes. He’s smart, successful, charming. And he loves Tucker. Even through both of their bullshit, he still falls to his knees crying about how much he fucking loves Tucker. Tucker has to take that at face value. If he can’t…well, what the fuck can he believe?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Drunk Sex (both parties are drunk and aware)

“There’s a staff party tonight.”

“Gross,” Felix scoffs, grinning as he pours grounds into Tucker’s coffee maker.

Tucker rolls his eyes, smiling a little bit. “Don’t be an ass, I want you to go with me.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, starting up the machine before coming to straddle Tucker in the kitchen chair, resting his arms around his neck. “What the fuck for? All your friends hate me. And I kinda hate them.”

Tucker scrunches up his nose, giving him a look. “Hey. Stop it, I’m serious. You can even invite people, if you want. Everyone else is, it’s gonna be kinda crazy. Donut and Frank got a house, recently, so we can have more people.”

Felix sighs heavily, letting his head hang back. “Fine,” he groans. “But I am gonna invite people. And Tucker.” He brings his head back up, bending to kiss Tucker delicately. “No talking to Wash,” he murmurs, lips still close to Tucker’s. “I want you next to me all night.”

Tucker raises his eyebrows at him, then sees the glint in his eyes and back down. Choose your fucking battles, Tucker. “Fine. Like I’d wanna be anywhere else, anyway.”

Felix smirks and pecks him again, pinching his cheek before climbing off of him again. He crosses to the counter again to pour them both drinks, and Tucker rubs his cheek where Felix’s fingers were.

***

“Don’t wear that.”

Tucker pauses halfway through pulling his arms through his sleeves, looking at Felix in the mirror. “What? Why?”

Felix pulls a face, curling back his lip and turning to rifle through Tucker’s closet. “It’s hideous.”

“…my mom got it for me for Christmas, once.”

Felix doesn’t reply, just comes over with another sweater and holds it out. “I’m just saying, this one looks really good on you, babe,” he says, smiling crookedly.

Tucker looks between Felix’s face and the offered sweater, pursing his lips. “Fine,” he mumbles, pulling the one over his head again. He looks at it for a moment, running his palm over the soft fabric. His mom had known that he likes all of his shit to be soft. It doesn’t have a tag either, but only because she had cut it out for him prior to wrapping it. He swallows the lump in his throat, then shakes his head. “No, you know what? I’m wearing this one. I like it.”

Felix glances at him over his shoulder, staring for a moment. Then he scoffs and rolls his eyes, turning back to fixing his collar. “Whatever. I don’t give a fuck what you look like.”

Tucker grits his teeth in an effort to keep himself from saying something sarcastic back. Last thing he wants is a fucking argument right before they leave for the party. He just has to pick his battles. He repeats that to himself as he and Felix lock up the place for the night and head downstairs, the night air nipping at their cheeks and stealing Tucker’s breath from his lungs. He tucks his chin into his coat to keep the air warm. Felix slips an arm around his shoulders and he relaxes a fraction, taking a breath through his nose. No use being irritated. No big deal. Just a stupid sweater.

Felix drives them to Donut and Frank’s place, and Tucker cranks the music as they drive. Felix allows it, but he does make several comments about how shitty Tucker’s music taste is. Tucker forces a grin and a laugh. He can take ribbing. He dishes out enough teasing himself, he can certainly fucking take it. But something about the way Felix says it sets his teeth on edge again, and he looks out the window, not speaking for the rest of the drive.

The townhouse is located on a quaint side street in the city, the kind with lots of trees and brick sidewalks, where the face of every house is unique. They find parking on the curb and climb out of the car, Tucker holding the bottle of wine they’d brought in his fist. Felix slips his hand into Tucker’s back pocket as they approach the door, climbing the steps making that particular position a little awkward. Tucker allows it, because he lets Felix do whatever the fuck he wants. He makes a conscious effort to smooth the lines on his forehead as he raps his knuckles on the door.

The door opens to Donut a few seconds later, dressed in distressed jeans and a way-too-tight polo with his hair slicked. “Oh, heyyy, guys!” he greets eagerly, hugging them both. Felix looks about as uncomfortable with it as Donut does, but Tucker appreciates the effort.

“Looking fly as fuck, D,” Tucker grins, clapping Donut’s shoulder. “Damn, nice place,” he adds, looking around as he kicks off his shoes near the door.

“Aw, thanks!” Donut beams, looking incredibly pleased. “It’s not quite done, yet, we’ve still got stuff coming, but it’s coming along! Come in, come in, I’ll take that, how sweet of you.” He plucks the bottle from Tucker’s hand, carrying it off and into a brightly lit room Tucker assumes is the kitchen.

“What do you think he’s on that makes him so uppity?” Felix asks dryly. “Coke?”

“Dude, stop it,” Tucker scolds, frowning at him. “Be nice.”

“I’m just saying.”

Tucker shakes his head and makes his way into the house, grinning when all of his coworkers and their various guests turn around and greet him loudly. Church is off to the side and looking at him kinda weird; they haven’t talked in a while. Tucker swallows his pride and makes his way over to him, nudging him gently with his elbow. “Hey. What’s good to drink?”

Church considers him for a long moment, then the corners of his mouth twitch a bit. “Dude. Frank has a killer liquor cabinet. Come look at this shit.”

Tucker grins and follows him, Felix trailing along as well. He glances over his shoulder, smiling apologetically. “Your friends getting here soon?”

“Yeah,” Felix nods, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m not a little kid, Tucker. Don’t hover.”

“I just wanna make sure you don’t feel weird,” Tucker says a little indignantly, scoffing as he turns back around. “Fine, forget it.”

He makes to continue on, then is jerked to a halt again as a tight grip clamps down on his wrist. “Watch your tone,” Felix warns, giving him a look.

Tucker stares right back, pulling his wrist away sharply but deliberately while maintaining eye contact. “Don’t grab me like that,” he says slowly.

Felix narrows his eyes, then snorts as his expression goes warm all at once. “Don’t be so sensitive, Tucker,” he teases, pinching Tucker’s cheek. Tucker purses his lips a bit and turns back around, following Church to get a fucking drink. God knows he could use one.

Church just watches the whole exchange with a dark expression, but he doesn’t make a move to intervene. Tucker’s glad for that much; last thing he wants is a fucking scene five minutes after arriving. The pair of them pour themselves some whiskey, and Tucker makes one for Felix, as well. Felix pecks him on the lips as a thank you, but Tucker spots Wash over his shoulder before he can reply. He smiles and waves, wincing a little when Felix glances to see who he’s talking to.

“Hey,” he mutters, glaring at Tucker. “I told you, I don’t want you talking to him, tonight.”

“I’m just saying hi,” Tucker snips back.

Felix narrows his eyes further but doesn’t reply, so Tucker turns away and smiles as Wash approaches. “Sup, dude.”

“Hey,” Wash replies, his smile crooked as he squeezes Tucker’s shoulder. The warmth lingers even after he lets go. “Hey, Felix,” he adds politely, sipping his drink.

“Washington,” Felix replies shortly, not looking at him. He glances at his phone, then grunts. “Friends are here, thank fuck,” he scoffs, then promptly walks away without a word.

Tucker closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing himself to find some fucking patience. It doesn’t even seem like Felix is trying to be less of an asshole, even though he promised he would after the whole bed disaster. And it’s starting to grate on Tucker’s nerves more than it usually might.

He opens his eyes when he feels a hand on his shoulder again, smiling when he sees Wash’s concerned eyes. “Sorry. Just…Felix is getting on my nerves, a little.”

“Everything okay?” Wash asks, frowning.

“Yeah, he’s just…I don’t know.” Wash doesn’t pry, just nods slowly. Tucker knocks back the rest of his drink in one gulp, and doesn’t miss the grimace on Wash’s face. “Hey, chill. It’s a party, right?” he scoffs, pulling out his phone and perusing it casually just to avoid Wash’s eyes.

“…right. Just don’t overdo it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” Tucker smirks, nudging him. He knows damn well they’re both thinking of the night that Tucker called him, drunk off his ass and crying about a fight with his boyfriend. But he hasn’t done it again, since, so he doesn’t know why Wash has his panties in a bunch about it. “Come on, let’s get out of the corner, I feel like a fucking creep.”

Wash snorts and follows him, the pair of them going to join the others near the couch and chairs in the center of the room. Tucker glances over his shoulder, watching as Felix gets his friends (who Tucker has never fucking met before) drinks and then leads them over. “Guys, this is Tucker,” Felix introduces, slipping an arm around Tucker’s waist. “Tucker, this is Sam and Mason. Friends from work.”

“Sup,” Tucker nods, holding out his hand to shake. Mason seems normal enough, if a little bit… scowly. Sam’s a fucking skyscraper, and his hand almost completely dwarfs Tucker’s. “Good to meet you guys,” he says after a moment of surprised blinking.

Neither of them seem keen on saying much, so Tucker turns back to his own friends. Fucking weird. Especially since Felix is probably the loudest, most outgoing dude Tucker’s ever met. And yet his friends are more like the creepy, silent type. He thinks he can feel eyes on him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling a little, but decides to ignore it.

As time goes on, it becomes obvious that Felix seems content to talk to his own friends in the corner like a jackass the entire night, setting Tucker’s teeth on edge again. So, he decides _fuck it_ and just tries to have a good time, enthusiastically joining in a game of beer pong with his friends and shoving Felix out of his mind. He blinks at the glossy wooden table, frowning as Donut sets up cups on either end.

“Uh, you sure we should be playing on this? It looks… expensive.”

Donut gives him a playful grinning, nudging him with his elbow. “A little beer won’t hurt it! Now come on, pick teams, everyone! Who wants to play first?”

“Me and Simmons,” Grif pipes up, giving Tucker a smirk. “You want a rematch? Pretty sure you’ve been avoiding staff parties lately just so you wouldn’t have to be embarrassed again.”

Tucker’s jaw drops, though he can’t help laughing a little. “Fuck you, dude! You only won on a technicality!”

“Yeah, and that technicality is ‘Tucker can’t play pong when he’s fucking wasted.’”

Tucker huffed, drawing himself up. “Yeah well, I’m only buzzed this time, so eat my entire dick.”

“Save the trash talk for the game, Tucker,” Donut crows. “Pick a partner!”

Tucker almost looks over to call Felix, then decides against it at the last minute and nudges Wash. “Washington, let’s fuck shit up.”

Wash grins and sets his drink aside, cracking his knuckles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Tucker snickers, deciding to ignore how his cheeks get a little warm at the playful look on Wash’s face. He’s clearly a few drinks in already, and Tucker finds the tipsiness kind of…adorable.

He shakes his head firmly and marches up to the table, putting that line of thought straight out of his fucking mind and slam dunking it into the trash.

As Tucker briefly dips his ping pong ball into one of the cups and then lines up his shot, he notices Felix staring at him from the far corner. His face is cast partly in shadow, and he’s flanked by Sam and Mason like a fucking super-villain. It actually looks a little ridiculous. He seems pissed, though, his eyes flashing, and Tucker swallows, wondering if this is worth it.

“Tucker, did you short-circuit or what?” Wash’s voice teases over his shoulder.

Tucker grins. Fuck it, he’s having fucking fun. He tosses the first ball, whooping loudly and punching the air with both fists as he nails the shot.

“Great job, Tucker, you got the first shot of the fucking game,” Grif drawls, taking the ball out of the cup and chugging half of it before handing it to Simmons. “That’s like, the hardest shot there is.”

“Fuck you, Dexter.”

Grif sinks his ball too, and Tucker snorts as he fishes it out and glances at Wash. “You wanna share, too?” he teases, grinning.

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Wash shrugs, taking the beer and downing half of it. Tucker pauses, jaw hanging a bit as he watches Wash’s adam’s apple bob. Fuck.

“Uh. ‘Kay,” Tucker croaks, taking the cup from him and finishing it off. He turns back to the game, grateful as hell that he can blush and no one can fucking tell.

The game ends up pretty fucking long, as the four of them get progressively more and more hammered. Simmons misses almost every shot, resulting in Grif spending the majority of the game with his face in his hands and dramatically asking for a divorce.

“We aren’t married yet!” Simmons squawks, though he’s half giggling. Wasted Simmons can’t pretend he doesn’t think Grif is funny.

“Fine, let’s fucking elope so I can divorce you immediately for having the worst throwing arm on the planet!”

Tucker smirks as Simmons bursts into cackling laughter. “They’re wasted,” he notes, ignoring the fact that he’s slurring his own words.

“Yeah. So’re we, though,” Wash adds, looking down at him with a goofy-ass grin. It’s not cute, it’s not cute, it’s not cute.

Drunk Tucker snorts and grins, booping Wash’s nose with his pointer finger. The small part of Sober Tucker that’s left screams inside of his head, but he shuts up once Grif sinks another ball and another beer is guzzled. Tucker’s officially wasted by this point, leaning slightly to the side for the final shot of the game, one eye closed and his tongue sticking out. He makes the throw, gentle and with a goddamn beautiful arc, if he says so himself, and sinks it right into the center of the cup.

“FUCK YEAH, EAT MY DICK, GRIF!” Tucker shouts, throwing his arms up victoriously. He yelps as Wash spins him around in a circle, laughing loudly once he realizes. “Wash, put me down, you fuckface!”

Wash snickers, putting him down and laughing when Tucker almost immediately tries to fall over. “Fuck, sorry, you okay?” he asks, helping to steady him while still giggling.

“Yeah, I’m just so fucking drunk,” Tucker snickers, leaning on him a little.

“Tucker.”

Tucker looks up, grin falling as he comes face to face with Felix’s cold expression. “Felix. Did you see that shit? We kicked ass.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna get going,” Felix tells him lowly, looking him up and down and curling back his lip a little. “You should probably stay here.”

Tucker blinks once, flushing a little when he feels everyone’s eyes on them. Wash makes a cutting motion across his neck, thinking Tucker can’t see, but Tucker still appreciates it as everyone looks away at once. “You’re leaving?” he asks, frowning. “Why?”

“I just am. You don’t look like you need me around anyway.”

“Hey, come on, I was just-”

“Call me tomorrow,” Felix tells him flatly. “We have a lot to talk about.” It sounds like a threat, and Tucker bristles.

“Fine. Bye,” he scoffs turning away. He doesn’t watch Felix and his friends leave, just listens for the front door to slam shut. He grimaces, looking at Frank and Donut. “Fuck, sorry he slammed your door.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tucker,” Donut assures him, patting his shoulder. “Alright. Who wants to dance?!”

Tucker nods, downs the rest of the last beer, and grins. “Fuck yeah!”

At first it’s just himself and Donut gyrating enthusiastically in the middle of the living room, Grif throwing money that Tucker belatedly realizes are two dollar bills, for some reason. After one song Tucker grins and reaches out, grabbing Wash’s hand and dragging him toward him. “Come on, Washington! We all know you’ve got an ass, show us how you use it!”

Wash laughed, turning bright fucking red. “Tucker, I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance!” Tucker insists. “Come on.” He takes Wash’s hands, grinning playfully as he basically forces him to move. Wash doesn’t seem to mind too much, despite the embarrassment, loosened up by the alcohol. After a couple minutes he seems to let loose a little more, and Tucker cheers shrilly for him as he starts to shake his hips and his hair around without any help from Tucker. “Fuck yeah, Washington, fuck it up!”

Everyone else cheers, too, and Wash is a fucking tomato but he doesn’t stop, grinning ear to ear and spinning Tucker around with a laugh. They keep dancing and twirling until they’re both sweaty and gasping. “I gotta cool off,” Tucker laughs, stepping away. “Be right back.”

He heads for the dark hallway, fanning himself and still smiling as he catches his breath. He barely makes it into the shadows before there’s a hand on his wrist, gentle but forcing him to pause. He glances over his shoulder, blinking when he sees Wash, still flushed and breathing a bit labored, eyes sparkling and hair a piecey with sweat. “Wash, wha-”

Wash’s lips are warm, and soft, and his hand is firm as it cups Tucker’s jaw. Tucker goes stock still for a moment, hands hovering in mid-air. After a moment he surrenders to the warmth, eyes fluttering closed and arms closing around Wash’s neck as he parts his lips invitingly. Wash inhales sharply through his nose and crowds him against the wall, his hands coming to rest on Tucker’s hips and squeezing almost desperately. Tucker pulls him closer, exploring Wash’s mouth with his tongue and not even ashamed of the soft moan. Fuck, Wash feels good, tastes good, smells good. Wash is so fucking good.

Wash fumbles with the door to their left, finding it unlocked and pushing it open. He peaks inside, and Tucker cranes his neck around, too, hoping like fuck Wash isn’t trying to hook up with him on Frank and Donut’s bed. He’s just thanking God and also Baby Jesus that it’s a spare room when the reality of what he wants hits him in the gut. He wants to fuck Wash. He wants to fuck Wash bad. He makes fists in the front of Wash’s shirt, backing them both into the room with renewed excitement. No point over-thinking, right?

Wash seems just as eager, shutting the door behind them and locking it tight. Thank fuck one of them is thinking. Tucker reaches down and starts pulling Wash’s shirt over his head, getting it caught on his chin and both of them laughing as they wrestle it the rest of the way off. Wash pulls his shirt off as well, and that’s all Tucker can manage before Wash is dropping to his knees, an action that sends blood straight down to Tucker’s groin so fast he almost falls over. Wash yanks open Tucker’s belt, popping open the button on his jeans and fucking _pulling his zipper down with his teeth_.

“Wash, what the fuck,” Tucker groans, sliding his fingers into his hair. “You fucking frat boy, that was so hot.”

Wash grins up at him, actually fucking winks, and Tucker thinks he might die. Or maybe he’s already dead, and this is just fucking heaven. He holds his breath as Wash pushes his jeans and his briefs down to his ankles, and he’s still pretty fucking wasted so he balances himself with his back on the wall. He gasps as Wash takes his dick in his hand to hold it steady, then takes nearly all of it into his mouth at once. Tucker grunts and knocks the back of his head against the wall, though he doesn’t really register the fact because Wash’s mouth is so hot and wet and fucking amazing.

“Wash, holy shit,” he mumbles, watching Wash’s wet, freckled lips stretch around his erection. Wash glances up at him, their eyes lock, and Tucker inhales sharply. “Fuck. Bed.”

Wash pulls away instantly with a noisy pop, getting to his feet and kissing Tucker hungrily as they back toward the bed. Wash falls onto his back easily, spreading his legs, and Tucker crawls on top of him eagerly. He’s feeling impatient and needy, and he grinds his hips down on Wash’s, earning himself a whine. He grins eagerly, then pauses. “Aw, fuck. Lube.”

“Fuck,” Wash agrees, despair settling over his features. Tucker laughs breathlessly and kisses him, filthy and messy.

“It’s cool, we’ll just skip the butt stuff.”

“Please don’t say butt stuff, that is so not sexy,” Wash scoffs, grinning goofily. Wasted, too.

Tucker snickers and crashes their mouths together again, reaching down to push Wash’s pants down clumsily. He’s got no fucking coordination at the moment so he breaks the contact to look at what he’s doing, swearing harshly as he struggles with the belt. Finally, Wash is fucking naked, although Tucker does forget his socks. It’s kinda cute, and Wash isn’t complaining, so he shrugs and leaves them.

He lowers his body to Wash’s, groaning at the scorching heat and rolling his hips. He would be embarrassed at already being so fucking close, but Wash is just as hard as he is, precum smearing both of their stomachs. Tucker hums and shuffles down, lapping it up and grinning when Wash makes a nearly inhuman noise. He doesn’t waste any time teasing, taking Wash’s dick into his mouth and swallowing it down as far as he can. He bobs quickly, reaching to touch himself at the same time and groaning around Wash’s cock, making his hips jump a little.

It only takes a minute for Wash to come, and Tucker can’t even be smug, because he’s about to follow straight after him. He swallows the load eagerly, licking him clean before getting onto his knees. He was going to just jerk himself off, but Wash grabs onto his thighs, tugging until Tucker shuffles forward. He keeps pulling until Tucker is basically straddling his neck, and then dives on Tucker’s erection like he’s fucking starving. Tucker whines, burying both hands into Wash’s hair and forcing his drunk ass not to thrust into Wash’s mouth. No need to be fucking rude.

He climaxes less than a minute later, grunting a warning and throwing his head back when Wash just sucks him harder. He comes down Wash’s throat, and Wash swallows easily, rubbing Tucker’s thighs with his palms and gently stroking his cock with his tongue. Eventually he lets Tucker slip from his mouth, gazing up at him with swollen lips and lidded eyes. Tucker makes a soft noise in his throat and shuffles back down the bed so he can kiss him.

“Wanted to do that for so long,” Wash whispers against his lips, and there’s a sharp twist in Tucker’s gut.

Fuck it. He can worry about it later. Right now he just wants to enjoy the afterglow, nothing but pure pleasure and warmth and Washington surrounding him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: nonsexual assault, blood

Wash’s forehead is fucking splitting down the middle.

At least, that’s what it feels like when he stirs early the next morning. He opens his eyes a fraction and then instantly shuts them again, groaning at the headache pounding behind his eyes. Fuck, he overdid it last night. Feels like a fucking truck hit him, then backed up and ran over him again.

He sits up, squinting into the light, and realizes he’s in an unfamiliar bed. He frowns, confused for a moment, then freezes when memories come rushing back; having way too much to drink, kissing Tucker in the hallway, hooking up with Tucker in Donut’s spare bedroom. He turns his head slowly to the side, blood draining from his face when he sees Tucker, still stark naked and fast asleep.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. He passes a hand over his mouth, then nearly jumps out of his skin when Tucker stirs, frowning and blinking into the light. He groans, probably has a hangover as bad as Wash’s, and pushes himself up to sit. He makes eye contact with Wash, eventually, and goes very still, his jaw hanging a little bit. It all comes back, apparently, because his eyes go wide and his lips part. “…oh, shit.”

Wash scoffs weakly, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Uh. Oops.”

Tucker sits up quickly, holding his head in his hands. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. We fucked.”

“Yeah.” Wash winces at the way he says it, like it’s so horrible, and watches him carefully.

“Fuck, fuck me,” Tucker mutters, throwing back the blankets. He scrambles to his feet and snatches his underwear, pulling them on with shaky hands. Wash watches him quietly, hands in his lap. Of course Tucker isn’t happy. He cheated on his boyfriend, even if his boyfriend is a fucking dick. Wash just wishes he were more sorry, himself, but he’s not. Not for Felix, anyway.

Tucker must feel him staring because he looks up, pausing in his mad dash to get his clothes back on. “…Wash,” he sighs, and he looks sad, almost, and Wash doesn’t like that. “I’m so fucking sorry, dude. I was so drunk, I wasn’t thinking.”

“So was I,” Wash murmurs, looking away for a moment. He chews the inside of his lip, trying to decide if he wants to lock the words down like always, or just let them out. His heart decides before he brain can tell it to sit the fuck down. “I’m not sorry.”

Tucker’s brows pull in, and his eyes get a little bigger. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I’m not sorry it happened. I…you shouldn’t be with Felix,” Wash tells him, firmly and with his chin up. Tucker just stares at him, so he keeps going while the bravado’s still up. “I’ve been trying to be patient, and let you figure it out, I know you’re an adult. But I just…he treats you like such garbage, Tucker. And I hate watching it happen. I want…you should be with me. If you want. I mean. Either way, it shouldn’t be him.” He looks away again, running his fingers through his already disastrous hair. “But if it were me, that’d be nice.”

It’s dead silent. Wash keeps his eyes on his lap for a long while, then when nearly a full minute goes by and Tucker hasn’t said a word, he peeks up at him. Tucker shakes his head slowly the moment they meet eyes, taking a step back. _Oh, no_.

“Wash…this was a mistake.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Wash argues, already desperate. Tucker keeps putting distance between them, taking careful steps backward, and he has to resist the urge to take his hand and pull him toward him again. Make him come back to him. “It doesn’t have to be a mistake.”

“Wash, I can’t,” Tucker croaks, eyes wide and terrified. “I’m with Felix. And you and me…we’re not…that’s not…no, Wash.”

No.

“Why?” Wash asks quietly, forcing himself to hold Tucker’s eyes. “Why not?”

“You deserve way fucking better than this,” Tucker snaps, suddenly worked up. Almost angry, but not quite. “You deserve better than a drunk hook up, and you certainly deserve better than me and my fucked up head.”

“I don’t care about that,” Wash insists, frowning. “I don’t think you’re fucked up.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think,” Tucker hisses through his teeth. His jaw is clenched, and his hands are shaking. “You have no fucking idea.”

Wash gets up, ignoring his head pounding in protest. “I want to know you better.”

“Wash-”

“I don’t believe you,” Wash interrupts, taking Tucker’s biceps gently into his hands. “I don’t believe you, when you say you don’t want this, Tucker.”

Tucker scowls and pulls himself out of Wash’s grasp, as quickly as he’d gotten there. Wash should have known he couldn’t hold onto him. “You don’t know me,” he repeats, slow and venomous. “And you don’t know what I want. I’m really sorry about last night, but this isn’t happening.”

Wash lets his hands fall, face burning with shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, feeling stupid for being so pushy. “I just…Tucker, you gotta leave him. Or he’s gonna end up killing you one day.”

Tucker bristles visibly, and Wash knows he’s done it. Tucker’s wall is up and locked down. “Look. I know you all think I’m some fucking idiot that can’t tell what’s good for me. You all think I need your fucking advice, like I need my hand held all the way through my own goddamn relationship because I’m too stupid to see the shit Felix is pulling.”

“Tucker, I don’t think you’re st-”

“And then! And then, you try and tell me you’re into me, and then you wanna tell me that I’m into you, too! Like you’re in my fucking head! Why the fuck would you say that?” Tucker asks, breathing more harshly between sentences. “Why the fuck would you tell me that, Wash? Fuck, I can’t, I can’t fucking deal with this.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just-”

“Shut the fuck up, Washington!” Tucker shouts, and Wash stares at him, jaw hanging in surprise. “Just shut up, stop it! You…I…I can’t be around you,” Tucker croaks, quieter now and with that panicked look back in his eyes. “I can’t be around you. I’m sorry, I just…I have to go.”

He turns toward the door and flees, and Wash stares at the empty doorway for a long minute. Once he snaps out of it he slowly stands, feeling stupid ass-naked except for his socks, and numbly hunts for the rest of his clothes. He pulls them on slowly, and painful lump in his throat but refusing to actually cry about Tucker.

Maybe one night is enough. Maybe one night is enough to help him, to fucking save his soul from Lavernius Tucker. Wash needs to move on, he’s desperate to just fucking move on. He can’t stand being hung up on Tucker another second, it’s killing him inside. Making him do stupid, irrational things he’d normally never do.

This is a sign. From God, or whoever is orchestrating this shit show. He has spent far too long being into Tucker, a man who he was never meant to have. They’re always too far apart, just out of reach, and last night their fingertips brushed. Just for a moment. And now Wash is paying the price for it, in the form of a pain in his chest and lead in his limbs.

He loves Tucker. Has for a while. And God, if it isn’t fucking torture to love him. It hurts, so fucking bad. Every day it’s like getting his ass handed to him over and over and over, and he’s so covered in bruises by now that he’s almost become numb to it. Tucker is beautiful, sunshine, affection, and Wash had almost forgotten that he is also soul crushing pain.

He won’t forget again.

***

Tucker is cleaning his dishes by hand, steam rolling up from the sink. His hands are scalding but he doesn’t change the temperature, it’s a nice distraction. He can’t stop thinking about Wash, no matter how hard he tries. He’s already burned himself three times, once for every time he remembers how Wash’s face goes slack when he comes. He scrubs the pan harder, clenching his teeth. The steam fogs up his glasses, so he pushes up the window in front of the sink to counteract it.

The door slams open, and he gasps harshly, dropping the pan with a clatter. He whirls around and sees Felix, standing in the kitchen doorway and breathing heavily. He’s a bit pink in the face, and his eyes are glinting with rage, his jaw set. Tucker’s heart is instantly on haywire all over again. “Felix?” he says tentatively, watching him closely for any sudden moves.

“Tucker,” Felix replies, low and quiet. “Have fun last night?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Tucker instantly feels sick. There’s no way he could have found out, though. He left before it happened.

“You left your phone on the table last night,” Felix tells him, still eerily quiet, and begins stalking toward him. “I picked it up for you.” He pulls Tucker’s cell out of his pocket, holding it up in the air.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” Tucker reaches out tentatively to take it, pausing when Felix holds it out of his reach. “Wha-”

“I saw the texts.”

Tucker stares at him, lips parted in confusion. “I…what texts?”

Felix narrows his eyes at him, his nostrils flaring. “How do you know when it’s time to let someone go?”

All of the blood slowly drains from Tucker’s face, and the beginnings of a cold sweat beads up on his forehead. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to think fast. “I…I…I-”

“I, I, I,” Felix snarls mockingly, suddenly chucking Tucker’s phone against the wall. It shatters instantly. “Close your fucking mouth, you piece of fucking trash.”

Tucker swallows, backing up as Felix advances on him. “Felix, I can explain.”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Felix hisses, advancing on Tucker until his lower back hits the counter. “You wanna know what the best part is?”

He pulls out his own phone, this time, quickly scrolling and pulling up a grainy picture. Tucker takes a moment to blink at it, then almost throws up on the spot. It’s him, and Wash, making out in Donut’s hallway. And then another, of them stepping into the spare bedroom.

“Sam sent me these. He stayed behind at the party for me, to keep an eye on you,” Felix explains, his voice quiet again.

He puts the phone back into his pocket, then raises the same hand so quickly Tucker doesn’t catch it before Felix’s palm connect with his cheek. The blow is so forceful it whips Tucker’s head sideways and he cries out, stumbling a bit. Felix doesn’t give him time to regain balance, whacking him again but this time on his head. Tucker raises his hands to defend himself as the blows keep coming, raising his knee to try and shove it into Felix’s groin. Escape, escape, he has to escape.

He and Felix grapple for several moments, and Felix gets a hold of Tucker’s hair, making a tight fist in it and keeping Tucker in place. Tucker panics, reaching up and trying to push down on his hand, get him to fucking let go, but he can’t get enough strength behind it; Felix is pulling at his bicep with his other hand. Tucker yells as he gathers up all of his strength and just throws his forehead into Felix’s, breaking the skin.

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Felix snarls as Tucker takes his opening, diving sideways and pelting toward the door. “No, you don’t, Tucker!”

Felix grabs Tucker’s wrist, yanking him to a halt so quickly his shoulder almost comes out of it’s socket. He’s pulled backward, slipping in his socks on the linoleum, and suddenly he and Felix are chest to chest, Felix’s knuckles pressed against Tucker’s abdomen. Tucker tenses, but Felix doesn’t move, just staring down at him with wide eyes and panting. He looks…a little pale, looking down between them in an almost dumbfounded way. Tucker blinks and looks down himself, and all at once pain shoots through his stomach.

Felix’s hand is wrapped around the handle of one of the knives Tucker had just finished cleaning, and the blade is buried in Tucker’s gut, all the way to the hilt. He stares, then lets out a gasp of pain and shock. Blood is slowly soaking his t-shirt, stark against the dull white, and covering Felix’s knuckles. Felix jolts, pulling the knife back out.

“Ah!” Tucker whimpers, pressing his palm to the wound as it bleeds even faster.

“Fuck,” Felix mutters, staring at him.

“Felix,” Tucker wheezes, having a hard time breathing as he panics. Shit, shit, the blood is seeping through his fingers, now. “Help.” He sinks to the floor, feeling dizzy and weak.

Felix just watches him bleed, his eyes wide, then drops the knife to the floor with a clatter. Tucker watches his blood glint on the blade as Felix turns on his heel and leaves, his shoes clacking loudly on the floor and the door slamming shut behind him.

“Felix,” Tucker mumbles again, even though he’s gone. Fuck, he needs help. He looks around, then whimpers again as he remembers that Felix fucking shattered his phone. It’s in pieces on the far side of the room, the screen nearly white with spiderweb cracks. Tucker tries to push himself to his feet, making it to his knees before falling right back down from dizziness and shaky legs.

He ends up with his cheek to the linoleum, shaking a little and tears pricking his eyes. Junior comes home today. Is he gonna have to walk in and see Tucker bled out on the floor? That makes the tears finally fall, and Tucker closes his eyes, feeling cold and heavy.

_Help, help, help._


	10. Chapter 10

Wash fucking hates hospitals.

A lot of it is the smell of antiseptic and illness, and some of it is that everything is white, which makes it easy to get lost and feel like you’re going nuts. But the worst part is the quiet. The way voices hush as soon as you enter the halls, nurses murmur to each other and doctors tell you in a gentle voice that something is wrong with you. Wash really, really hates the quiet.

Somehow,seeing Tucker laid up in a hospital bed is worse than being in one himself, though. He looks like absolute shit; he’d lost a lot of blood and was unconscious by the time the cops found him. A neighbor, apparently, had heard shouting and banging on the walls and called the police about a domestic disturbance. They’d showed up at Tucker’s apartment, knocking down the door when he didn’t answer, to find him alone. In a pool of his own blood, face down on the floor and unconscious. The image Wash’s mind conjures up is enough to turn his stomach; he’s almost glad he didn’t actually see the real thing. The sight in front of him is enough.

He reaches toward the hospital bed, taking Tucker’s hand as he sleeps. He looks pale, the circles under his eyes pronounced. He spent so long in surgery Wash would have lost his shit if he’d been alone. Church was there, though; he was Tucker’s emergency contact, and had been the one to let Wash know what had happened. No one else knew yet. They wanted to keep it to themselves until things were a bit more stable.

Wash runs his thumb gently over Tucker’s knuckles, avoiding the IV in his hand, and sighs heavily through his nose. Stabbed in the gut with a kitchen knife. Wash knows exactly who the fuck is responsible, but the police need shit like evidence to be able to bring somebody in. But Wash knows it was Felix. He fucking knows it, and the second he sees the little rat he’s gonna shatter every one of his bones.

Big words, but Wash still feels sick with guilt. This is his fault, really. He should have gotten Tucker away from Felix sooner, even if it meant Tucker hated him. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, giving Tucker space, letting him figure it out on his own, being there for him when shit was bad. Tucker almost died, though, because Wash was too chicken shit to protect him. He frowns, rests his elbows on his knees and sighing through his nose again as he closes his eyes. He’s been in one chair or another for the past eighteen hours or so. Church has been here longer, having arrived at the hospital minutes after Tucker was brought into surgery. He’s down in the lobby getting them both coffee; they fucking need it. They didn’t really sleep through the night, just dozed on and off sitting up in stiff armchairs.

Wash gets lost in thought watching Tucker’s face as he sleeps, his hands clasped and knuckles pressed to his lips. He jumps a little when the door opens, glancing over his shoulder and seeing that it’s only Church, hands full of coffee. “Thank fuck,” Wash murmurs, reaching to accept his cup with a grateful nod. He takes a careful sip, glancing at Church when he realizes it’s nearly perfectly the way he likes it. Guess he did listen, sometimes. When he felt like it.

They’re silent for a long time, sipping their coffee and trying to will themselves to be more alive. Wash wraps both palms around the paper to-go cup, pressing his lips to the lid and absorbing the warmth as he watches Tucker’s heart monitor. “I should have done more,” he murmurs eventually, brows furrowed deeply.

Church glances at him, raising an eyebrow and scoffing. “Like what? You gonna knife fight Felix?”

Wash doesn’t look at him, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a moment. “No, just…I was trying to protect him. I was trying to be careful. I…I did something really stupid, the other night.”

“Yeah, you fucked him.”

Wash raises his eyebrows, looking over at him. “Did he tell you?”

Church rolls his eyes, lounging back in his chair and crossing his arms. His coffee is cooling on the end table; Church always hated burning himself on fresh coffee, and sometimes would leave it so long it’d go cold before he could even take a sip.

“No,” Church snorts in response. “But everyone saw you go into that room together. Everyone fucking knows.”

Wash stared at him for a moment, then heaved a sigh, slowly turning to face forward again. “Great.”

He can feel Church’s eyes on him, and after a few minutes it gets uncomfortable enough that he meets them. They’re silent, just looking at each other. Probably for the first time in…months. Properly, anyway.

“He really cares about you,” Church says eventually, breaking the eye contact. “I dunno about being crazy in love, or any of that bullshit. But don’t fuck with him. Felix was enough.”

Wash scoffs and nods in bitter agreement. “Yeah. I’d like to get my hands on him.”

“You’d have to get in line,” Church mutters darkly, scowling as he watches Tucker sleep. He hasn’t woken for longer than a minute or so since being admitted, and when he did he was so doped up he didn’t know where he was. Church purses his lips a little tighter. “Can’t believe he fucking stabbed him. This shit only happens in movies, man.”

“I know,” Wash huffs, shaking his head. “…did you call Carmen?”

Church grimaces, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, she said she’d tell Junior. She’s gonna bring him by…sometime. I uh, couldn’t really hear through all the crying. Didn’t wanna make her repeat herself, though.”

Wash pulls an empathetic face, reaching to squeeze Church’s shoulder. “Sorry. I would have done it, if you wanted me to.”

“Nah. She knows me better,” Church murmured, eyes on his lap. “It’s good it was me. We were like the three amigos in high school. Y’know, if the three amigos were a couple trouble making assholes and their nerdy friend.”

Wash snorts softly, lifting the corner of his mouth in a smile. “I can only imagine the havoc.”

“We were a goddamn nightmare,” Church laughed, subdued but definitely a laugh. He smiled just slightly, his gaze still down at his own fingers twisting in his lap. “Y’know, I say they were the trouble makers, but it was me and Carmen who were always fucking fighting people. Tucker would just stand on the sidelines and give us advice. Like he knew how to fight for shit. Probably should have taught him, then he wouldn’t have gotten in this fucking mess.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands as it crumples. “Fuck. God fucking damnit, Tucker.”

Wash knows Church isn’t a hugging kind of guy, and really, neither is he, unless it’s the right person. Still, he reaches and puts an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close and squeezing tightly. Church doesn’t turn and cling to him, but he does lean in just a little, scowling down at the floor and dripping tears onto his knees. He doesn’t ugly cry, just scowls so hard you’d think his face was gonna break, and presses his knuckles to his mouth so no one can see it quivering. After a minute or so he calms down, taking deep breaths through his nose and sitting up straight.

“Sorry. Damn,” he sniffs, clearing his throat loudly.

“Don’t be,” Wash murmurs, letting him go now that the moment’s over. “It’s shitty.”

“Yeah,” Church scoffs, a little hoarsely. “Yep. Real fucking bullshit.”

They fall silent again, Church appearing exhausted after all of the emoting. Wash doesn’t blame him a bit. It’s nearly an hour later when Tucker frowns slightly, grunting, and then opens his eyes to a squint. Church and Wash both look at him, waiting to see how lucid he is.

“Tucker…?” Wash asks tentatively, frowning at him.

Tucker looks at him, eyes opening a little wider and seeming clear, for the most part. “Wash?” he croaks, looking confused. “What’s-” he moves to sit up, then gasps, and falls right back down. “Agh, fuck, ow,” he wheezes, lifting his hand to clutch his stomach. He pauses when he notices the tubes in it, and reaches to yank them out.

“Woah, hey, don’t,” Wash interrupts, reaching to take his hand. “Don’t do that, you need those.”

Tucker frowns, seeming to be slowly piecing things together. “M’I at the hospital?” he asks, looking around. “What happened?”

Wash slowly laces their fingers, rubbing Tucker’s knuckles with his thumb once more. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. He’s so far gone. “Do you remember Felix coming to your apartment yesterday?”

Tucker stares at him blankly, lips working silently. “Felix…I don’t-” His eyes go wide suddenly, and he sits up straight, pulling his hand away. “He fucking stabbed me.”

Wash nods slowly, not hurt by the loss of contact. “Yeah. Your neighbors called the police and they had you brought here.”

“Cops?” Tucker asks, eyes still round. “Cops found me?”

“Yeah,” Wash repeats, resting a hand on his arm. Tucker pulls it away instantly, like he’s been burned. Wash puts his hands in his lap instead.

“Where’s Junior? Did he…did he see…?”

“No,” Church speaks up, shaking his head. “I called Carmen earlier, she’s gonna bring him by.”

Tucker nods slowly, still looking shaken. “Felix…where’s Felix?”

“We don’t know,” Church huffs bitterly. “Bastard booked it out of town. He was gone when they tried to bring him in for questioning. They’ve got a warrant out for him.”

Tucker sits back slowly against his pillows, looking even paler, if possible. “What if he didn’t leave town? What if he’s still here?” His eyes flit back and forth, back and forth, between the window and the door.

“Then we won’t let him get to you,” Wash promises firmly. “We’re not gonna let him hurt you ever again, Tucker.”

Tucker looks him in the eyes grimly, shaking his head. “You can’t protect me from him,” he says shakily. “If he wants me, he’ll get to me.” His heart monitor starts to slowly pick up speed, and Church swears softly under his breath as Wash reaches to take Tucker’s hand again. It’s the wrong move, clearly, as the monitor doubles in speed almost immediately and Tucker shoves himself into the corner of the bed. As far away from Wash as possible.

Wash puts his hands up, grimacing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t touch you anymore. Just, you have to breathe, Tucker, or the nurses are gonna think something’s wrong.”

Tucker squeezes his eyes shut, and Wash is unsure of whether he even heard him or not. He’s muttering something Wash can’t understand under his breath, and has started scratching his forearms hard enough to break the skin. Wash blinks as he suddenly notices all of the scratch scars and what look to be old burns. They’re absolutely littering his skin, filling nearly every spare inch. Wash doesn’t understand how he could have missed them, before. He looks to Church for help, at a loss,and Church purses his lips before snatching the call button and pressing it repeatedly until a nurse comes bursting through the door.

***

When Tucker wakes from the sedative sometime later, he’s sore and thirsty. He still feels a little dizzy, but more with it than he has since arriving at the hospital. He pushes himself to sit up just enough to see the room around him, grimacing as the stitches on his torso pull. Fuck, that hurts. He fights down the increase in his heart rate, the pain sending him careening back in time to that kitchen, with that knife in his gut and Felix’s eyes wide. His own blood hot and thick against his fingers.

“You’re awake.”

Tucker blinks and jumps a little bit, seeing Wash sitting in the love seat in the corner. “Yeah. Hey,” he greets weakly, forcing a small smile.

“Hey,” Wash replies, coming to sit on the bed beside him. His hand brushes Tucker’s accidentally, and Tucker pulls it away. Wash doesn’t seem to take it personally, putting his hand in his lap instead. “How are you feeling?” he asks, giving Tucker a once over.

“Shitty,” Tucker snorts. “But a little less doped the fuck up, so that’s cool. Is Church still here?”

“Yeah, Carmen got here a little while ago. With Junior,” Wash tells him slowly. Tucker tenses instantly, but he tries to keep his expression smooth. “Church went out to update them.”

Tucker nods quietly, looking at the far wall rather than Wash. “Did…does Junior know…?”

“Yeah,” Wash murmurs. His hand twitches like he wants to touch Tucker again, but he doesn’t, and Tucker relaxes. “Yeah, Carmen let him know. If you don’t feel like you can see them yet, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Tucker sighs, a little shakily. “Nah.I can handle it. Don’t wanna make them wait until they go fucking crazy.”

Wash nods, watching him closely still. It’s different from how Fe-…what Tucker is used to. When Wash watches him he doesn’t feel like a piece of meat. He feels…seen. “Do you want me to go get them?” Wash asks softly.

Tucker closes his eyes, swallowing, and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck it. Gotta do it sometime.”

“Okay.” Wash gets to his feet (his shirt and pants look kinda rumpled; has he not gone home to change yet?)and shuffles toward the door. He steps out and shuts it behind him, and Tucker lets out a long breath. Fuck, this is gonna fucking suck. He just knows it. He closes his eyes, then immediately wrenches them open as he’s just met with the overwhelming feeling that there are eyes on him. He glances toward the window suspiciously, tense all over again.

He jumps a little when the door opens once more, but he relaxes quickly when he sees it’s just Church. Following right behind him is Carmen, her thick black hair up in a messy bun. She’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, like she’d jumped out of bed and come straight there. He smiles fondly, lifting up a hand to wave at her. “Sup, C.”

“Hey, dumbass,” she replies weakly.

She turns,holding out her hand, and then Junior follows her into the room with his head down. His shoulders are hunched up and his eyes are on the ground, like he doesn’t want to see anything inside the hospital room. Carmen doesn’t make him come any farther than the door, for now, making her way over to sit in the chair Wash had been occupying for the past day or two.

“You look like shit,” she teases softly, looking him over.She looks like she’s trying to be casual, but her eyes are shining.

“Hey. Everything’s fine,” Tucker assures her quietly, frowning a little in concern. He always hated seeing her cry, it fucking sucked because she rarely did it. Felt like the world was ending when Carmen finally broke.

He gets that same feeling in his chest as her face crumples a little and she glares at him. “Don’t even fucking start that,” she snaps, though he knows there’s no real venom there. “Stop saying you’re fine when you’re not, Tucker.”

“Okay.” He tries to pacify her, but she’s already started, so the tears come anyway. He sighs and lets her hug him, squeezing her back as tight as he can manage at this point. She’s careful to avoid his stomach, and he’s damn grateful for that. Thing feels alright when he doesn’t move or touch it, but it still twinges.

“How are you feeling? Seriously?” she asks, reaching to cup the side of his head affectionately. Tucker presses into the contact, comforted by the warmth of her palm. They’d had Junior in high school, and always loved each other, but by the time J was two they realized they weren’t romantically in love. Tucker’s pretty fucking sure she’s his soulmate, though, and is eternally grateful that she’s Junior’s mom.

“I feel tired,” he admits to her, closing his eyes briefly. “But, alright. Not terrible.”

Carmen nods slowly, seeming to take him at his word on that much, and then looks toward Junior. He’s still hovering in the doorway, hiding behind Church a little. Like he’s hoping they’ll forget he’s there.

“J,” Carmen calls gently. “Come see Dad. It’s okay.”

Junior hesitates still, glancing up at Church with wide eyes. Church nudges him in the back gently, nodding toward the hospital bed. Junior seems to take that as reassurance, inhaling deeply through his nose before marching toward Tucker’s hospital bed. Tucker totally gets the way he’s feeling; it’s super uncomfortable to see your parent in a hospital, hooked up to tubes and shit and looking like death warmed over. They’re your hero, when you were little you used to think they could do no wrong, that they’d never die. And then one day, shit changes. Tucker gets it.

So he smiles as reassuringly as he can when Junior comes to a stop at his bedside, finally managing to look at Tucker but still appearing quite tense. “Hey, dude,” Tucker greets him quietly.

“Hey,” Junior replies, lifting the corner of his mouth a little. He’s silent for a long moment. “…you got fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Tucker agrees, scoffing weakly.

Junior smiles again, then is in tears the next second. Tucker sits up instantly and wraps his arms around him, careful of all his fucking wires and tubes but still holding as tightly as he can. Junior clings to him, sobbing into his shoulder and sitting on the bed to get closer. Tucker pulls him on with him - fuck it - and holds him tight.

“It’s okay,” Tucker assures him hoarsely, kissing the top of his head firmly. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m alright.”

“No you’re not,” Junior chokes, wiping his eyes uselessly. “You got stabbed, Dad!”

“I know,” Tucker winces, swallowing as his own eyes burn. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?!”

“J,” Carmen interjects, wrapping an arm around him. Tucker’s still holding him, so they’re forming a kind of protective cocoon. “Take a breath, kiddo. It’s okay.”

Junior tries his best, coughing on the first couple and then finally managing some even ones. He seems to calm down a little, sniffling and wiping his eyes but not sobbing anymore. Tucker smiles weakly and reaches to pet his curls, and it somehow it makes everything worse that Junior just fucking lets him. No comment about being embarrassing, no shrugging him off, no faces or smart comments. He just…lets him.

“I love you,” Junior murmurs, squeezing Tucker’s hand super tightly.

Fuck, now Tucker’s crying. He swallows and scrubs the wetness away with his bicep. “I love you too, kid.”

Junior sighs and doesn’t make any move to leave the bed. In fact he stretches out, being as careful as he can, and lays his head on Tucker’s shoulder like he used to when he was tiny. Tucker lets out a breath through his nose and kisses his forehead, then rests his chin on top of his head gently. Carmen shakes her head, smiling tearfully, and rubs Junior’s back until he falls asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: mentions of previous self harm, mentions of previous suicidality, character death (please see end notes if you're nervous! there's a spoiler down there ;))

“Have you lost interest in things that you used to enjoy?”

“I don’t know,” Tucker sighs, looking out the window with his arms crossed. The psychiatrist sits in a worn out chair at the foot of the bed, his ankle resting on top of his knee and his clipboard balanced against his leg. He watches Tucker critically over the edge of it, making him tense. It’s silent for a while, and Tucker can’t stand it, it makes his brain fucking scream, so he huffs loudly to fill it. “I don’t really do much other than work and take care of my kid, so. I dunno.”

“Alright.” The psychiatrist glances at his clipboard again, scribbling briefly. “How’s your sleep, Mr. Tucker? Sleeping more or less than usual?”

Tucker shrugs, then sighs heavily as he realizes he probably shouldn’t bullshit. “I guess I’m…sleeping less,” he mutters, scowling at his knees.

“How many hours do you think you get per night?”

“Uh. Four or five. Sometimes less.”

The psychiatrist doesn’t make a face, just nods and makes another mark on whatever shit is on his clipboard. Tucker thought the clipboard thing was just in the movies. “How long ago did the sleep disturbances start?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Tucker groans, rubbing his face. Why the fuck did he need specific dates?! “Um. Maybe a year ago? Something like that.”

More notes. The pen scrapes almost noisily in the silence, only accompanied by the slightly irregular tune of Tucker’s heart monitor. He’s a little pissed off that he can’t even have his anxiety to himself in this fucking white box of a room.

“Alright. Have you ever hurt yourself intentionally?”

Tucker considers lying again. He even says “no” aloud, then instantly feels a pang of guilt. “…yes,” he amends quietly. “Sometimes.”

“Cutting?”

“Nah. I burn myself sometimes, with like, cigarettes and shit.” He knows the hospital staff probably detected pot in his system, but he still doesn’t wanna say it out loud. For some reason, it sounds more pathetic than cigarettes. “Sometimes just with a lighter.”

“I see. How often, do you think?”

“…almost daily.”

More nodding, more notes. Tucker isn’t sure if he’s happy the psychiatrist doesn’t comment, or if he wants to tear his fucking hair out.

“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

Tucker pauses, going still and looking at him. “Why do you wanna know that?”

The psychiatrist looks up and gives him a reassuring smile. “My job is to keep you safe, Mr. Tucker. Just answer honestly.”

“…a couple of times. Not seriously, though.”

“Do you have idea of how you might do it?”

“No, I didn’t think that hard about it,” Tucker mutters, frowning out the window again. “Just…crossed my mind a couple times before that shit might be easier if…yeah.”

“I see,” the psychiatrist nods. “Do you want to die?”

Tucker shakes his head slowly. He’s at least sure of that much. “No. I don’t.”

Notes. “Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Tucker,” the psychiatrist says after a long, silent moment. He gets to his feet, holding out his hand to shake Tucker’s tube-free one. His grip is firm. “The doctor will be by this afternoon to give you an update.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Tucker murmurs, watching him go and releasing a long sigh. Thank fucking God, that sucked.

Almost as soon as the room is empty people are filing in again, Carmen and Junior followed by Church and Wash. Junior comes right back over to sit by Tucker, leaning on him carefully and pulling out his phone to play games. Wash gives Tucker a small smile.

“How was it?” he asks. Something about the way he’s been asking has Tucker thinking he’s done this before himself.

“Kinda shitty. Not the worst, though,” Tucker scoffs, shrugging.

“How are you feeling?” Wash wonders, sitting in his chair again. He lifts his hand and hovers it over Tucker’s arm, then decides against it at the last minute and puts it back in his lap. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah,” Tucker says, shaking his head, He wraps an arm around Junior’s shoulders, letting him settle a bit closer. “You guys must be fucking exhausted, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want.”

“We want to,” Church tells him firmly.

Wash nods in agreement, smiling a bit. “I think I’m gonna go get a change of clothes, though,” he says. “If anyone else needs anything, I can pick it up while I’m gone.”

“I’ll go with you,” Church suggests, turning a little red when Tucker raises an eyebrow at him. “I need shit too, and I have a key to Tucker’s place, so…”

Wash shrugs, looking like he’s trying his very best to be nonchalant. “Sure.”

Tucker looks between the pair of them, both eyebrows raised now. “You two gonna survive that much time in a car together?”

“Fuck off,” Church snorts, flicking his forehead gently. “Dickweed.”

“Fuckface,” Tucker retorts, smirking up at him.

Church and Wash leave shortly after that, and Carmen whistles lowly once the door has closed behind them. “They’re still kinda weird around each other, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tucker snorts, rolling his eyes. “They’re getting over it, though. Slowly. Real slowly.”

Carmen watches him for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching. “So. You and Wash seem…close.”

Tucker glanced at Junior nervously. “Yeah, uh…he’s. He’s a cool dude.”

Carmen snickers, nudging him. “A cool dude, huh? Is that what we’re calling it, now?”

“Shut up, man,” Tucker hisses in embarrassment. “It’s…shit’s weird right now. I don’t really know where we stand.”

“What happened? Did you…” Carmen makes sure Junior is playing his game, then very subtly mimes a blowjob with her hand and her tongue in her cheek.

“For fuck’s sake. Yeah,” Tucker mutters, glaring at her as she laughs again. “But it was…weird. I mean, the…act wasn’t weird. That was…good. But I felt bad after. And then…then…” He swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. Carmen’s smile falls slowly.

“Oh. I see.” She purses her lips, looking at him for a long moment. “This Felix guy sounds like a real cockbite, T.”

“I guess he is, yeah,” Tucker murmurs. “…loved him, though. I dunno why. Guess I’m just a fucking idiot.”

“You shouldn’t say mean stuff like that about yourself,” Junior pipes up, narrowing his eyes at him. “If you say it enough times you’ll think it’s true.”

Tucker flushes, grimacing. “Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you used to tell me that all the time. And you also always say the rules aren’t just for me, sooo…”

“I get it, I get it,” Tucker sighs, smirking when Carmen pats Junior’s curls with a smug look.

“J’s right. You’re not an idiot,” she tells him. “Felix is just an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Tucker scoffs. “That, I can agree with.”

***

“Oh…God. Should we tell Tucker?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. He’s gonna lose his shit when we do.”

“He needs to know. He needs the closure.”

“Easy to say, Wash. Tell me that again in five minutes,” Church mutters, rubbing his face.

“I’ll stay out here with Junior,” Carmen murmurs.

Church and Wash look at each other for a long moment, then Church shakes his head. “You do it,” he says eventually. “You’ve got…a better way of handling this kind of shit. I always fuck it up.”

Wash frowns at him. “You’re his best friend.”

“So are you. Go, dude. I’ll be there for the fall out.”

Wash hesitates for another moment, then sighs and nods. “Alright.”

He turns, take a deep breath through his nose, and then ducks into Tucker’s hospital room. Tucker’s awake, watching the TV in the corner of the room. He looks tired, but at least his color is back to normal.

“Hey,” Wash greets quietly. He smiles when Tucker looks over, sitting at the bedside. “How do you feel?”

“Just the same as I felt ten minutes ago when you asked,” Tucker smirks, giving him a playfully dry look.

“Sorry,” Wash laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just worried, that’s all. You scared the shit out of me.”

“That makes two of us.”

It’s quiet for some time, Tucker not quite meeting Wash’s eyes and Wash trying to mull over how he’s going to break this particular news to Tucker.

“Hey, so…I have something I need to tell you,” Wash murmurs.

Tucker looks over, instantly concerned at his tone. “What?” he asks warily, brows pulled in.

Wash takes another breath through his nose, forcing himself to meet Tucker’s eyes. “The cops traced Felix to the next state. He…he was in a shootout with police. He was shot, and he died on the way to the hospital.”

Tucker goes still, staring at him blankly. “He died?” he asks hollowly, voice quiet.

Wash nods slowly, watching him carefully. “Yeah.”

“When?”

“Early this morning, apparently.” It’s silent as Tucker just continues to stare at him. “…How do you feel?”

Tucker opens his mouth, then instantly places his palm over it. “Holy shit,” he croaks, tears falling almost instantly. “I…I don’t…are they sure?”

Wash just nods again, staying silent for now.

“Holy shit,” Tucker repeats, sobbing a little at the end. “Why did he…holy _shit, Wash_.”

“Do you want…can I hug you?” Wash asks weakly, frowning. Tucker only has time to nod once before Wash is sitting on the bed, wrapping his arms around him. Tucker sobs again and clings tightly, burying his face in Wash’s chest.

“Fucking idiot,” Tucker whimpers, holding tightly to Wash’s shirt. Wash grimaces, rubbing his back soothingly.

“I’m sorry, Tucker.”

“No you’re not. And neither am I,” Tucker scoffs, tears coming faster. “That’s a fucking lie. I…I hate him, but…I loved him, too. Fuck, this is fucked up.”

Wash reaches and wipes away as many tears as he can with his thumb, ducking so he can look into Tucker’s eyes. “It’s not fucked up, Tucker. He hurt you, but you still cared about him. That doesn’t make you fucked up.”

“He tried to fucking kill me!” Tucker shouts, scowling with shiny eyes. “He fucked stabbed me in the gut! I should be glad he’s dead!”

“There’s no ‘should’ about it,” Wash argues gently. “How you feel is how you feel. Don’t hate yourself for this, too.”

Tucker glares at him for another moment, then sniffs and inserts himself into Wash’s arms again. Wash shifts, swinging his legs onto the bed. Tucker instantly slides down, nestling his head into Wash’s lap, and Wash lets him. Just pets him instead, sliding his fingers between his dreads and gently rubbing at his scalp. Tucker sniffles and hiccups softly into the silence, eventually wearing himself out and falling asleep. Wash doesn’t move, even as his legs start to get a little restless and his back a little sore from the position he’s in. He stays still, rubbing Tucker’s back and letting him rest. He certainly deserves it.

***  
Tucker is released that evening; the wound was deep but thin, so all he needs is bandaging and to take it easy for a couple of weeks. The doctor also suggests to Tucker the possibility of anti-depressant medication, or even therapy. Tucker doesn’t even let him finish talking before telling him ‘fuck no.’ The doctor doesn’t press, but he does leave referral information as well as a prescription for meds. Wash grabs them on the way out; Tucker left them on the side table without a backward glance.

Tucker is clearly more than thrilled to be getting the fuck out of the hospital, allowing Wash to help him walk carefully out of the front doors and to Wash’s car. He’s mostly upright, but keeps an arm wrapped protectively across his torso and grimaces on every step as they descend to street level.

Wash eases Tucker into his passenger seat, wincing when Tucker hisses. “Sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Tucker replies, a little strained. “Just sore.”

Wash nods and shuts the door, crossing to the driver’s seat and getting them on the road. Tucker doesn’t touch the radio. “Are you hungry or anything?” Wash asks, glancing at Tucker in his periphery. He’s looking out the window, elbow braced on the door and chin resting in his hand.

“No. Let’s just get back.”

“Alright.”

The rest of the trip is silent, Tucker jiggling his leg anxiously and not stopping the entire time. Wash kind of wonders how he keeps it up that long without getting a cramp. They pull up outside of Tucker’s apartment, and Wash crosses to help Tucker climb out of the car without popping any of his stitches. He insists he can walk on his own, though, so Wash lets him, thankful that Tucker only lives on the second floor so they only have to manage one set of stairs. That seems to be about Tucker’s limit, too, as he frowning and clenching his teeth as he unlocks the door.

They’re greeted by the scent of spaghetti as well as Carmen and Junior’s voices echoing from the kitchen. Tucker hangs up his jacket and heads straight in, Wash hovering in the entryway. He feels a bit weird, like maybe he should leave, let them have time alone, but Tucker turns and beckons for him to follow. So, he does.

Junior gasps and leaps out of his chair as soon as he sees Tucker, though he holds himself back and keeps his hug nice and careful. “Hey, Dad. Do you feel better?”

“Little bit, yeah,” Tucker laughs quietly. “Feel a little bit less like I’m on the fucking moon.”

Junior doesn’t seem to get what he’s saying but nods anyway. “Me and Mom are making spaghetti. Oh, hi Wash!”

“Hey,” Wash greets, smiling and lifting a hand awkwardly. “Um, Tucker, I can go.”

“Nah, dude, stay,” Tucker assures him, smiling at him over his shoulder. “Seriously, it’s cool.”

“Please stay, I accidentally made a fuckton,” Carmen begs him, grinning.

“You always make a fuckton,” Tucker teases with a soft snicker. He ruffles her hair as he passes, shrieking as he earns himself a pinched nipple. “Hey!”

“You were asking for it,” she smirks, turning back to stirring the noodles.

Wash enters the kitchen and sits at the table across from Junior. “Can I help?” he asks, desperate to feel less like an intruder in their family.

“You don’t have to. But if you want, I’m about ready to put the beef on,” Carmen tells him, giving him a fond look. “Tucker, you sit the fuck down,” she adds as Tucker tries to start chopping up veggies.

“Aw, come on,” he whines, frowning at her. “It’s just a stab wound,I can cut fucking vegetables,” he mutters, grabbing the knife. He instantly goes still, staring down at it. Wash’s stomach drops and he gets to his feet as Tucker drops the knife back to the counter with a clatter and begins to shake.

“Alright, come on,” he says softly, putting an arm around Tucker’s shoulders.

“Bedroom,” Carmen tells him lowly, watching Tucker with a concerned expression.

Wash steers Tucker out as he trembles and gasps for air as quietly as he can; still trying not to scare Junior, the prick. “Sorry,” Tucker pants, breathless as they pass through the treshold. “Sorry, I’m fine, I just need a second.”

“Sit down,” Wash instructs quietly, closing the bedroom door behind them and guiding Tucker to the edge of the bed. “You need to breathe more slowly than that.”

“C-can’t.”

“Yeah, you can. You’ve done it a million times,” Wash assures him, getting to his knees so they’re eye level. “You can. Just copy me.” He demonstrates breathing in deeply through the nose, and then slowly out of his mouth, keeping eye contact to give Tucker something to ground him. It doesn’t work too well, at first, but eventually Tucker finds it easier, just like always. With the proper time, Wash believes Tucker could do anything.

“There you go. Better?” he asks, reaching to touch Tucker’s cheek gently. Tucker turns his head away, so he drops the hand into his own lap. Alright, back to no touching.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Tucker huffs, scowling at the wall over Wash’s shoulder. “How fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, and you don’t have to be sorry,” Wash argues gently.

Tucker is silent for a long time, jaw clenched. Slowly he relaxes, closing his eyes. “I’m better now,” he says quietly. “We can go back.”

“You sure?” Wash asks, tilting his head. “We can stay in here. I’ll stay with you.”

Tucker glances at him out of the corner of his eye, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We could put on TV.”

Tucker nods, scooting farther back onto the bed. Wash moves to climb on, then freezes halfway there when Tucker goes rigid again. He’s squeezed his eyes shut, and is shaking his head as Wash frowns deeper and deeper in concern. “Okay, never mind,” Tucker mutters. “Not here. Can’t…lets…go to the living room.”

“…okay,” Wash says slowly, watching him closely. “Tucker, what’s wrong?”

“The bed. I can’t…” He glances toward the door, eyes wide. “Is that closed?”

Wash glances at it, and sees that it is very clearly closed. He’s pretty sure Tucker can tell, too, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, it’s closed. No one can hear.”

“…Felix. He, uh…he got mad at me for flirting with you one night. So he…he tied me to the bed for a few hours. In the dark.”

Wash stares at him, brow down low and eyes incredulously wide. He’s trying to school his expression, but he knows his face has gone pink with rage. “He tied you up in the dark. And left you. For hours.”

“He was angry,” Tucker murmurs, looking away from him. “He didn’t know how to fucking deal with being angry, so he just…did stupid shit.”

“That is not an excuse,” Wash snaps, and grimaces when Tucker jumps a little bit. “Sorry. Sorry. I just…I’m angry for you. That was wrong. So, so wrong for him to do.”

Tucker shrugs, still refusing to look at him, his shoulders near his ears. “I upset him a lot. I knew he didn’t deal with anger well but I still did it.”

“That’s not…” Wash pauses, takes a moment to breathe. He can argue circles around Tucker all day long, but he’s still going to take Felix’s side over his own. Even after the man is dead. Maybe, especially then. “Tucker. Let’s go to the living room,” he suggests instead, keeping his voice soft.

He gets to his feet, extends his hand. Tucker takes it slowly, finally flitting his eyes up to meet Wash’s, and the pair of them leave the bed and shut the door firmly behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********************************It's Felix********************************************


	12. Chapter 12

Tucker’s back is pressed to his head board, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. This is fucking stupid, he’s going to get the fuck over this shit. It’s been a month since Felix died, and Tucker’s in his bed, ready for sleep, for the first time since he was tied up in the dark. Junior’s home, so he realizes this probably isn’t the best time to possibly have a fucking breakdown, but he’s already made it this far. Point of no return. Sure, he’s a little sweaty, and his back already aches from how fucking tense he is, but god _damnit_ he’s going to sleep in his own motherfucking bed. Even if it takes him all night - he’s already been trying to force himself to lay down for over an hour.

Tucker takes a deep breath through his nose, slowly uncurling himself and shuffling under the covers. So far so good, until he’s on his back, then he grunts and instantly rolls onto his side. Okay, better. He pulls one of his spare pillows and holds it against his stomach, just closing his eyes with the lamp on his side table still on. He takes a few moments to do some deep breathing; that’s supposed to help, right? He waits for it to help, but after a few minutes he gets impatient and decides to just fucking go for it. Better late than never. He reaches over, holding his breath, and then flicks out the light.

_Pitch black. Rope biting into his skin, his body spread and prone in the dark. Felix’s hands and voice bruising him, the air frigid from the fan running on high overhead. His chest is contracting, the walls are closing in, or maybe they’re gone, Tucker doesn’t know. Either way he’s dying, floating in the abyss and dying as nobody answers his screams._

He flicks the light back on, shaking and panting and sitting up straight. He puts his face in his hands, sobbing from pure exhaustion. His eyes are sandpaper, he can fucking feel the bags dragging down his eyes, but he just can’t sleep. He fumbles for his phone, hitting call on his most recent contact.

“Tucker? It’s late, are you okay?”

“Wash,” Tucker croaks, rubbing his face. “…no, I’m not. I mean, I am, but…I can’t sleep,” he sighs shakily, dropping his free hand with a heavy thud. “I can’t fucking sleep here.”

“Your bed?” Wash asks, and Tucker can hear the worried frown in his voice.

“Yeah. It’s too…it’s too much.”

“Yeah.” Wash pauses for a moment, and Tucker rubs his sore eyes wearily with the heel of his palm. “Would you sleep better in the living room?”

Tucker scoffs, rolling his eyes. Though it’s at himself, not at Wash trying to help. Wash is always trying to help him, and Tucker could never scoff at that. “Not really. It’s…fuck, it’s the dark. I feel so stupid, what kind of grown man is scared of the dark?”

“Why don’t I come get you?”

“Junior’s here, I don’t want him to be scared.”

“Then I’ll just come over. Like last time,” Wash tells him gently. “Maybe it won’t be so bad if someone else is there.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning, Wash, you don’t have to do that,” Tucker argues, though it’s weak because he doesn’t really mean it.

“I want to. I’ll do anything to help you,” Wash tells him, and Tucker chokes up all over again.

“God, fuck you for saying shit like that,” Tucker laughs hoarsely. “Fine. Alright. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll be over in a bit. Get out of that room in the meantime.”

“’Kay.” Tucker hangs up, and is on his feet in the next second, away from the bed. He brings the duvet with him, like he has for the past month straight, and shuffles out to the living room. He turns on lights as he goes, unwilling to stumble through the black hallway to get to the living room, and turns his head away from the kitchen completely as he passes by. He’s been wasting an embarrassing amount of money on takeout just so he won’t have to fucking go in there.

He turns on the lamp beside the couch before flopping onto it, a mass of cloth surrounding him. He puts the TV on low for something to do, wrapping himself up tight until just his eyes are peeking over the top of the cocoon he’s made himself. He stays in that exact position for a while, then glances toward his phone when it lights up, Wash texting him that he’s outside the door.

“Sorry,” Wash murmurs when Tucker lets him in. He ducks through the threshold, pulling off his jacket and revealing that he’d driven over in his fucking pajamas. “I didn’t wanna wake Junior up with knocking.”

“Thanks, dude,” Tucker smiles, resisting the random urge to get on his toes and kiss him hello. Although, maybe it’s not that random. Fuck, he has no idea where the fuck they stand, or what the fuck he wants, and it’s stressing him out. “I appreciate it.” Tucker leads the way back to the couch, tossing Wash one of his spare blankets. “I just put random shit on,” he tells him, wrapping himself back up in his cocoon.

“That’s fine,” Wash shrugs. “Kinda glad you called, to be honest. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Tucker grunts in a commiserating way, frowning at him. “Sorry, dude. You good?”

“Yeah. Just happens sometimes.”

Tucker is quiet for a while, glancing at Wash a couple of times in his periphery. “Wash. What were you in the hospital for?”

Wash goes still, looking at him with a carefully blank expression. Tucker feels a bit of a swoop in his stomach and tenses, ready for Wash’s eyes to flash and his hands to grab, but they don’t. He just takes a breath, looking down at his own knees, and Tucker feels a little guilty for being afraid.

“What makes you think I was in the hospital?” Wash asks casually, still avoiding Tucker’s eyes.

“Just a feeling,” Tucker murmurs in reply. “You seemed to kinda…know a lot about what was going on.”

Wash is quiet for a minute or two more,and Tucker picks at a loose strand in his duvet in the meantime. “Had kind of a breakdown in college,” Wash tells him eventually, voice still quiet. “My friend Maine admitted me.”

“Maine?” Tucker asks without really thinking, frowning a bit.

“Nickname. He was from the state, and we were really close, so…our friends thought it would be funny to give him a state nickname to match mine. I guess it was supposed to be cute,” Wash snorts, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit.

“Were you guys into each other?”

“Yeah, for a while. Didn’t end up great, we weren’t good for each other. I have a habit of driving the people I date kind of crazy,” Wash snorts dryly.

“Good thing I’m already crazy.” It slips out before Tucker can reel it in, and he clamps his mouth shut tight as an afterthought. The statement gets Wash to finally look at him, definitely, but neither of them say anything. The silence is almost enough to make Tucker scream, but Wash finally just continues talking like nothing happened.

“So, uh…anyway. Maine admitted me. Mostly because I was like, not eating or sleeping very much. Plus I’d started like, seeing stuff? I dunno, it was weird. Not like, demons in the corner of the room or any of that shit. But just stuff out of the corner of my eye that wasn’t there. And then I was really paranoid, and fighting with everybody, and just…yeah, it was bad. Doctors said it’s a pretty common thing in college students, having episodes like that. So they just gave me an IV for the dehydration and malnutrition, and kept me overnight, then they did an eval and gave me some meds. And then I left.

“I still have the same therapist, actually,” Wash tells him with a small smile. “She’s really great.” He pauses, and Tucker can tell he wants to say something by the way his jaw works back and forth, his lips pulling in between his teeth.

“Spit it out, Wash.”

“I was just thinking,” Wash says slowly. “She could probably recommend you somebody.”

Tucker instantly goes tense, and he wraps himself up tighter in the duvet. “No.”

“I know, you’ve said that,” Wash sighs. “Tucker, it’s okay to…not be okay.”

“I’m fine,” Tucker tells him stiffly, eyes now cemented to the television. “Drop it.”

Wash puts his hands up in his periphery, and he doesn’t say anything else. They resume not looking at each other, and the room is silent once more. Tucker feels a little guilty for the harshness, but he doesn’t know how to apologize now that they’ve been quiet for a few minutes. He scoots closer to Wash instead, carefully and slowly. He’s been vacillating rapidly between wanting to be left the fuck alone and wanting to be held so tightly he feels like he’s alive again. At the moment it’s the latter, so he leans on Wash and sighs in relief when arms instantly envelop him. Wash’s chest is broad and firm and Tucker rests his head there, closing his eyes as he listens to his heart beat and enjoys the warmth emanating through his t-shirt.

“I’m really glad you’re alive,” Wash says softly.

Tucker blinks, startled by the emotion behind the words. He looks up to find Wash already gazing down at him, his blue eyes soft in the glow from the lamp. It’s such a tender thing, to be looked at and held by Wash in the yellow light, wrapped up in cloth and strong arms, and Tucker swallows thickly. He reaches to cup the side of Wash’s head, just underneath his ear and around the base of his skull where the hairs are shorter, and he stretches up to kiss him firmly on his lips. They’re warm, not as warm as at Donut’s party, but still comforting, and soft. Wash pauses briefly before returning the affection, gently and cradling Tucker delicately like he might break.

The light touch of his hands puts Tucker on edge a little, and he kisses a little harder, trying to get Wash to respond in kind. All it really manages is to make Wash pause again, pulling away slightly to frown at Tucker in confusion. Tucker doesn’t give him time to formulate the question, sitting up and swinging his leg over until he’s straddling Wash’s lap. He kisses his next words straight off his lips, sliding his hands into Wash’s hair and pressing until their chests are flush. Wash tries to talk again so he bites his mouth until he stops, just fucking stops trying to make Tucker think when he doesn’t fucking want to, damnit. He just wants to feel, and he rolls his hips down heavily onto Wash’s, relieved when he feels him responding to the friction.

“Tucker,” Wash mumbles, gasping against Tucker’s mouth. “Tucker.”

“Sh,” Tucker whispers, frowning when Wash turns his head away. “Wash,” he mutters, irritated. He ducks his head, trying to find him again.

“Tucker, wait, hold on,” Wash says more firmly, and that makes Tucker go still, his face falling. “This is…we can’t. Not right now.”

“Why?” Tucker knows he’s an asshole, but he can’t help the petulant fucking lump from forming in his throat. All he wants is to just fuck and come so he can sleep, so he can stop feeling like the walls are pressing the oxygen out of his lungs. Stop feeling like he’s suspending in blackness, at the mercy of whatever comes from the shadows to take the pieces of him that are left.

“We shouldn’t, like this,” Wash murmurs, frowning up at him. But he’s not angry. He looks concerned, and somehow that just makes it all fucking worse.

“Fuck you,” Tucker mutters, moving to climb off of him. Wash holds him tighter, and Tucker knows he’d let go if he asked, so he stays.

“Don’t,” Wash sighs softly, brushing Tucker’s hair over his shoulder so it doesn’t fall into his face. It’s so fucking gentle Tucker wants to tear his skin off. “Don’t, alright? I really, really care about you, Tucker. And if we’re gonna…do this again…I want to do it right. And right now…it’s not right.” He takes Tucker’s hand, and kisses his knuckles, and Tucker sobs dryly. Just once, but enough that he curls in on himself a bit with the force of it.God, he’s a mess. Wash doesn’t look at him like he’s a mess, though. Tucker doesn’t ever want Wash to stop looking at him.

“Okay,” Tucker whispers, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Wash’s. “’Kay. Will you still stay, though?”

“Of course I will,” Wash assures him softly, lightly pecking the tip of Tucker’s nose.

“Fuck, you gotta quit doing that kinda shit,” Tucker croaks, closing his eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Washington.”

“Nah.”

Tucker snorts weakly, readjusting so his chin is hooked over Wash’s shoulder and his arms are tightly around him. Wash hugs him back, his hands curving around Tucker’s body like he’s holding something precious. Something valuable. Tucker wishes he could feel like he’s worth that. He clears his throat and sits up after a minute.

“Let’s lay down.”

“Okay,” Wash agrees, and they slide until they’re horizontal, Wash on his back and Tucker stretched out on top of him. It’s reminiscent of the night Tucker had called him, except this time he isn’t drunk, and for once he isn’t crying. Maybe he’s exhausted his tear ducts. Maybe he’s just exhausted in general.

He presses his ear over Wash’s heartbeat again, and closes his eyes as he listens to it drum against his ribcage. He t-shirt is soft, worn from many washes, and he rubs his cheek against it a bit. Wash’s chest shakes a couple times as he laughs silently, fondly, and his lips press against the top of Tucker’s head. Tucker takes a deep inhale through his nose, counting to three, and then exhales slowly through his mouth, counting to five. At some point he falls asleep, after Wash pulls the duvet to cover them both, after Wash turns off the TV. After Wash traces patterns up and down Tucker’s back, swirling patterns and paths and, Tucker suspects, words. He wonders what Wash tracing into Tucker’s skin that he’s not saying out loud.


	13. Chapter 13

Wash wakes alone in the early hours of the morning, the sky still a moody gray. He feels a little cold, blinking away the sleep from his eyes, and sits up with a groan. His back doesn’t feel great after sleeping on the couch, and he stretches his arms over his head briefly before looking around for Tucker. He’s not in the living room, and Wash doesn’t see him when he leans forward to peek into the kitchen, so he gets to his feet to look around. He shuffles down the hall, being quiet near Junior’s room because the kid is probably still asleep. He ducks his head into Tucker’s bedroom, and then the bathroom, and doesn’t find him there either. He frowns, going back to the living room to text him; maybe he went for a walk or something? As soon as he sends it he hears a noisy rattle from the nightstand in Tucker’s room, and swears softly. He didn’t bring his fucking phone, wherever he went.

Wash sighs, rubbing his face and going to lean on the window sill. The cracked window lets in a bit of crisp air and he breathes it in, closing his eyes. The leaves are nearly all gone from the trees, and what’s left are deep orange and curled. The wind whistles softly, and Wash shivers before closing the window to the chill.

When he looks out at the street again he has to do a double take as he sees a figure, standing still in the middle of the street. A closer look tells him that it’s fucking Tucker, in his pajamas and bare feet and swaying slightly where he stands. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t look…all there, and Wash mutters a curse before spinning on his heel and taking Tucker’s keys from the hook before hurrying out the door.

He rushes down the stairs so quickly that he slips on the last few, but he catches himself and just keeps going, pocketing the keys and exiting the apartment complex in a hurry. Tucker is still standing there, stock still and gazing down at the ground with his arms limp at his sides. Wash jogs toward him, glancing both ways to ensure no cars are approaching. “Tucker,” he calls, but Tucker doesn’t respond. Wash frowns at him, ducking to look into his eyes. Tucker doesn’t seem to see him, and Wash lets out a breath through his nose. Sleepwalking. Jesus.

“Okay, come on,” Wash murmurs, mostly to himself because he doesn’t actually want to wake Tucker unless he has to. He puts a hand on the small of Tucker’s back and nudges him, trying to get him to walk. He goes easily enough, though he’s dragging his feet a little, and together they slowly get out of the street and back onto the grass in front of Tucker’s apartment building. Wash takes a deep breath, glancing at Tucker out of the corner of his eye every few seconds as he carefully guides him up the stairs and back into the stairwell. He lets the door shut on it’s own, and realizes that was probably a bad move right before it slams shut.

Tucker jolts awake and shouts, ripping his arm out of Wash’s grip and throwing a fist in the same second. Wash blinks as it connects with the center of his chest, the wind briefly knocked out of him. Damn. Good punch. “Tucker,” he wheezes, grabbing Tucker’s wrists and holding them in an iron grip as he continues to swing. “Tucker! It’s just me! It’s Wash!”

Tucker freezes, staring at him and breathing harshly. His dark eyes clear, and his brow pulls in at the center. “Wash,” he croaks, eyes wide and trembling head to toe. “W-what’s going on? What’s going - where are we?”

“Stairwell,” Wash explains, holding his gaze steadily. “You were sleepwalking.”

Tucker just stares at him, like he’s grown another head off his shoulder. “Sleepwalking? I don’t sleepwalk.”

“You just were,” Wash murmurs, releasing his wrists now that he’s not panicked and throwing sucker punches. “You were out in the street, I had to come get you.”

Tucker’s chest is still heaving slightly, and his eyes flit side to side as he searches Wash’s. Wash isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but from the way Tucker’s face pinches a bit and his shoulders droop, he thinks he found it. “I don’t sleep walk,” Tucker says again, hoarsely.

“Sometimes it happens. After stressful events and stuff,” Wash tells him. “My dad used to, after he came home from deployment.”

“But I’m fine!” Tucker tells him hotly, his eyes shining. “I’m fine, I don’t…I’m not…”

“You’re not,” Wash interrupts softly, reaching to pet Tucker’s cheek delicately. “You’re not fine, Tucker.”

Tucker opens his mouth like he’s gonna argue, then his face crumples even more and he’s in quiet tears the next moment. “Fuck,” he moans, slowly wrapping his arms around Wash’s middle. Wash squeezes him tightly, pressing his cheek to the top of Tucker’s head. “Oh, fuck, I’m not fine, Wash. I’m not.”

“It’s okay,” Wash murmurs, rubbing slow circles into his back. “You’re gonna be.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Wash holds him for a few minutes, both of them swaying slowly in place as Tucker sniffles and hides his face in Wash’s neck. Eventually he pulls away on his own, and Wash lets him go, smiling softly. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he suggests, and Tucker nods, following him with their hands clasped.

He lets them back into the apartment, glad that he had the foresight to grab Tucker’s keys, and steers Tucker straight back to the couch. He had thought about sitting Tucker down at the table in the kitchen, but he knows Tucker doesn’t go in there anymore, unless he absolutely has to. Wash tells Tucker softly that he’s going to make them coffee, and goes to do so when he gets a quiet nod. He frowns to himself as he starts up the machine; Tucker can’t keep living in this place.

The fridge is nearly empty, because Tucker just orders fucking takeout all the time so he doesn’t have to cook in the kitchen. He can’t even sleep in his own fucking bed, or his own fucking bedroom, because he’s terrified. Wash is sure the living room isn’t great, either, because he knows Tucker and Felix had frequent arguments in there. The entire place is like…hell. Wash can’t imagine it. He couldn’t save Tucker from Felix, but he can sure as shit save Tucker from his fucking apartment.

He emerges from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee, setting one on the coffee table in front of Tucker. Tucker mumbles a thank you and takes it, wrapping his palm around the porcelain and keeping it there; Wash knows that probably hurts, and it makes his stomach clench to know that Tucker’s probably doing it on purpose. He eyes the marled skin up and down Tucker’s forearms sadly.

“Be careful,” he says softly. “You’ll burn yourself.”

Tucker’s eyes flit toward his, and he swallows before slowly readjusting and holding the mug by the handle instead. “Thanks,” he mutters, looking away again. They’re silent for a long while, sipping their coffee and listening to the birds and cars outside the window. The world waking. “I need a fucking therapist,” Tucker suddenly says into the quiet.

Wash looks at him, then nods slowly with a long sigh through his nose. “Yeah.”

“Help.” It’s not a question, it’s a fucking plea, and Tucker turns his warm brown eyes on Wash and Wash could never deny him anything. He’d give Tucker the sun and the stars and the beating heart from his fucking chest if he could.

“I will,” Wash promises.

***

Wash asks his therapist for a referral for Tucker, and he holds Tucker’s hand while he calls to make the appointment from the couch. Tucker nearly breaks his fingers squeezing them so tightly, but Wash doesn’t care, because Tucker is being so fucking brave. Tucker drops the phone when it’s done, and Wash pulls him close, holding him tightly against his chest and rocking his limp body. He knows how exhausting asking for help is, especially with the possibility that you could be rejected.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs, holding Tucker a little tighter.

“Stop,” Tucker mutters in reply. Wash smiles fondly as Tucker hides his face in his neck.

They’re silent for a while, Wash rubbing Tucker’s back and Tucker allowing himself to just rest for awhile. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” Wash murmurs eventually, his lips pressed to Tucker’s hair.

Tucker sits up a bit, stretching his arms over his head before settling against the arm of the couch. “What’s up?” he asks, looking at Wash curiously. He turns to face Wash, bringing his socked feet up onto the couch, and Wash can’t resist curling a hand around Tucker’s ankle. He brushes his thumb through the bits of hair peeking out underneath Tucker’s sweatpants as he tries to choose his words carefully.

“So,” he finally begins, looking up into Tucker’s eyes. “Tucker, I don’t think you should stay here. This apartment…it’s got bad memories.”

Tucker looks like he’s about to argue, even scoffs a little. But then his dark eyes slide slowly over the room around them, pause on the entryway to the kitchen, and the corners of his mouth pull down. “I guess. But…I don’t have the money to move, Wash.”

“I could help you,” Wash suggests, and he isn’t surprised when Tucker’s eyes flash and he shakes his head before the sentence is even out. “Okay. Well…I have a spare room. What if you guys stayed with me? Until you got enough saved up to move.”

Tucker just looks at him for a long while, searching Wash’s face for something. Wash just looks right back, calm and with a small smile. “Wash…” Tucker sighs eventually, looking down and shaking his head slowly. “Wash, I can’t let you do that. That’s…that’s so much.”

Wash reaches, gently takes Tucker’s hand in his own and snugly laces their fingers. “You need help,” Wash tells him quietly. “You need to get out of here. You need a safe place to rest. I want to be a safe place you can rest.”

“But, Junior,” Tucker argues, weak and a little hoarse. He’s holding Wash’s hand more tightly, so Wash squeezes back in kind. “Junior, he’s…he’s a lot of work, still, even though he’s older, you know? And he has like, a bed time, and-”

Wash cups Tucker’s jaw, tilting his head upward so he can’t avoid eye contact. “Tucker. Let me help you,” he begs quietly. “Please.”

Tucker stares, like a deer in headlights, and then he softens, swallowing as his eyes shine. “Okay,” he breathes, blinking rapidly and nodding. “Okay. I…okay. Thank you.”

Wash wants to tell him he loves him, because that’s the best response he can think of that encompasses everything Tucker is to him. But he doesn’t. Not yet. Instead he just dips to kiss him gently, smiling when Tucker returns the affection without hesitation.

“Anything for you,” Wash says.

***  
Tucker and Junior move into Wash’s spare bedroom, where his parents usually stay when they visit. The closet is kind of small, but they make it work, and Wash buys a couple plastic drawer sets so they have more room to store their shit. Junior doesn’t ask a lot of questions, apparently. Tucker tells Wash that he’s a little concerned that the kid is gonna just explode one day, but Wash thinks that maybe Junior understands more than Tucker thinks he does. He definitely gets that feeling when Junior asks if he can talk to him alone the evening after he and Tucker move in. Tucker blinks at the pair of them, then shrugs when Wash gives him a wide-eyed look.

“I dunno, man. Guess you should go find out,” he murmurs, nudging Wash toward the hall where Junior is waiting.

Wash takes a breath and follows Tucker’s son into the spare bedroom, feeling a little bit like he’s about to get the shovel talk from an eleven year old when the door closes behind him. “What’s up, Junior?” he asks, tilting his head a bit as Junior sits on the bed.

“I know why we’re here,” Junior tells him, looking down at a chipping bit of wood on the banister of the bed. He picks at it idly as he speaks,one of his feet jiggling up and down as well. “Dad’s scared of the apartment. Because he got stabbed there.”

Among other things, but Wash supposes that’s the gist of it, so he nods. “Yeah. Is that hard to understand?”

“No,” Junior scoffs, giving him a look. “I’m not stupid. It’s like…I got beat up outside this one drug store on my way home from school once, so I don’t walk that way anymore. ‘Cause you’re scared it’s gonna happen again if you go to the same place.”

Wash nods slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It is like that.”

Junior takes a long breath. “My dad almost died,” he says, his voice firm like he’s working hard to keep it steady.

Wash watches him for a long moment, then lets his arms hand loose at his sides. “Mind if I sit?” he asks, and smiles when Junior shakes his head. He slowly sits beside the kid on the bed, quiet for a minute as he chooses his words. “Yeah. Your dad almost died. That was really scary, huh?”

“Yeah,” Junior scoffs, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

“Are you scared I’m gonna try to hurt him, too?”

Junior pauses, glancing at him. He’s quiet for almost a full minute, but Wash doesn’t try to pressure him into speaking. “A little,” Junior admits eventually, looking away again. “I know you’re nice. And I know you and dad have crushes on each other. Church told me.”

“…great,” Wash muttered, shaking his head.

“But it’s still weird. Felix was nice, too,” Junior tells him, scowling a little. “To me, anyway.”

“It’s okay not to trust me, Junior,” Wash tells him quietly. “Your dad and I aren’t really sure what we want at the moment, so you have time to get used to me. I’m not upset that you don’t trust me.”

Junior starts to fidget a little faster, but he nods, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt until they get kind of loose. “Just…don’t be mean to him. A lot of people have been mean to him. Even he says mean stuff to himself.”

“I won’t,” Wash promises. He smiles slightly as he watches Junior frown at the ground, both feet bouncing a little, now, with nerves. “I’m glad we talked, Junior. You’re really brave. And really smart. Your dad’s lucky you have his back.”

Junior smiles a bit, looking up at him. “Yeah. Well. I’ll kick your ass if you mess up.”

Wash snickers and wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing.

“Good.”


	14. Chapter 14

On the second night after Tucker and Junior move into the spare room, Wash wakes to a dip in his mattress. He frowns, squinting into the dark with eyes still dry and burning with sleep. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Tucker, crawling under his covers and shuffling to lay close to him. He’s trembling a bit.

“Tucker?” he mumbles groggily, lifting a heavy hand to pet his hair. He finds it easily, even in the dark. Tucker doesn’t answer, just lays there on his back, a bit stiff. As Wash’s eyes adjust he can make out some of his face, and sees that Tucker is determinedly avoiding his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “Tucker, are you alright?”

Tucker closes his eyes, his jaw clenching and then releasing. “Just…could you…” He lifts his hands vaguely, frowning a little deeper. Wash reaches and pulls Tucker into his arms without a word, and Tucker sighs shakily as his body releases. They lay there, silent, in the dark, and Wash presses his nose into Tucker’s neck as he dozes a little bit. He fights to stay mostly awake, though, in case Tucker needs him.

“D’you want me to turn on the lamp?” he asks, suddenly realizing that Tucker is probably extremely uncomfortable; Wash’s blackout curtains are cracked a bit, but the room is still quite dark.

Tucker pauses, then shakes his head slowly. “No,” he whispers. “Just…hold me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Wash shifts to get more comfortable, and Tucker does the same, rolling onto his stomach and resting his head in the crook of Wash’s shoulder. Wash’s arm is probably gonna fall asleep at some point, and Tucker’s hair is tickling his nose, but he just sighs sleepily and kisses the top of Tucker’s head. Wash waits until he hears Tucker’s breathing even out, feeling the soft puffs of air against his neck, before finally passing out himself.

Wash wakes later than usual the next morning, but still manages to do so before Tucker. His arm is definitely numb, all the way down to his fingers. He’s about to move it, then pauses when he gets a look at Tucker’s face, slack with sleep. His lips are parted slightly, and his cheek is a little smashed against Wash’s shoulder. Wash lifts the corner of his mouth, his heart twisting a bit, and very carefully extracts his dead arm without waking him. He lays there as the feeling comes back, flexing his fingers through the pins and needles and watching Tucker sleep. He wonders if it’s creepy. He decides he really doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Eventually Tucker stirs, sniffing and frowning as he lifts a hand to rub his face. His eyes flutter open, a little crusty and bleary and Wash wants to kiss him, so he does. “Morning,” he murmurs.

Tucker blinks once at him, then softens into a tiny smile. “Hey,” he responds, pausing before leaning forward to return the kiss. “Did you sleep okay? Sorry I like, invited myself in, last night.”

“Don’t be sorry, I want you to do that. And I slept great,” Wash tells him, resting his forehead against Tucker’s. He’s a sap in the morning and he fucking knows it. “Did you?”

“Was alright, yeah,” Tucker nods, smiling at the affection. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Thanks,” Wash smirks, rolling onto his back and stretching out. “We slept late.”

“Shit, really?” Tucker glances at his phone, then slowly lifts his eyes to give Wash a dry stare and a lifted eyebrow. “It’s fucking nine, Washington.”

“Yeah,” Wash nods, laughing a bit at his expression. “Late.”

“Fucking Christ,” Tucker snorts, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. He groans as his spine pops a couple times, then his shoulders. He even rolls his head to crack his neck, and Wash wonders how much of this shit he’s gonna have to put up with before he just bursts into flames.

“I’ll make coffee,” he says to save himself, rolling onto his side and out of bed. He yawns and runs fingers through his own hair as he shuffles to the kitchen, blinking when he’s met with Junior sitting at his table. “Oh, morning, Junior. Sorry, we slept in.”

“That’s okay,” Junior says, giving Wash a very Tucker-like raised eyebrow. “Did Dad sleep in your room?”

“Yep,” Wash nods, hoping his blush isn’t obvious. How much do eleven year olds know about…grown up stuff? Does Junior know what sex is? Is he gonna _ask what sex is_?

“Okay. Just wondering.” Wash lets out a silent breath of relief. “Look, if you guys are gonna be kissing all over the place, I’ll remember to knock.” And he’s red again.

“…okay,” Wash agrees, nodding quickly. “Sounds good. Uh. Thanks?”

Junior just rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he goes back to his cereal. Tucker enters the kitchen a bit later, looking like he’s brushed his teeth and cleaned up a little.

“Holy shit, J, I didn’t have to drag you out of bed by your ankles, today?” he teases, grinning.

“Bite me, old man,” Junior drawls, grinning when Tucker squawks indignantly.

“Old man?! I’m not old!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Can we not?” Wash asks, smirking fondly as he pours himself and Tucker mugs of coffee. “No arguing until after Wash has had like, three cups of coffee. At least.”

“Sorry,” Tucker and Junior mutter in unison. Wash snorts as they shove each other a couple of times before finally settling down. At least his temporary roommates are interesting.

***

Over the next six months, Tucker improves slowly but steadily. He fills his antidepressant prescription in the first month of living with Wash, and after a bit of experimenting with different brands and dosages he finds one that he likes. The nightmares don’t disappear, quite yet, but he does sleep more, averaging about six or seven hours rather than three or four. He starts seeing a therapist pretty soon after getting the meds, but that progress is a bit more slow going.

Tucker seems to get worse before he gets better, on that front, especially in regards to the negative self talk and the self harm. If Wash is honest, Tucker is a fucking asshole to himself at all times of day during the first few weeks of seeing his new therapist. He insists he likes her, so Wash takes him at his word on that, but it’s still worrying to hear the way he talks. Like everything he ever does is wrong, a burden on everyone.

The worst is when Wash walks in on him in the bedroom one evening after getting home from work (Tucker has taken a sabbatical, unable to muster the energy to even leave the apartment most days). Tucker is holding a lighter against the inside of his forearm, gritting his teeth as he holds the metal bit there as long as he can - he must have heated it with the flame. Wash doesn’t mean to gasp, but he does, loudly enough that Tucker looks up with round eyes.

“Wash,” he breathes, hiding the lighter behind his back.

“Tucker,” Wash frowns, crossing the space between them and dropping to his knees in front of him. “Give me that,” he murmurs, taking the lighter out of his hand and setting it aside. “Let me see.”

Tucker allows Wash to inspect and clean the burn, his eyes brimming with tears the entire time. “I’m sorry,” he moans softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Sh,” Wash whispers, sitting up on his knees and kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m gonna get Neosporin for this, okay?”

“Okay,” Tucker mutters, voice a bit thick.

Wash returns a minute later with Neosporin and a large band-aid, smoothing the cream over the burn and grimacing when Tucker hisses. “Sorry,” he apologizes softly, pressing the band-aid over it and trying to smooth it down gently. “There. We’ll just change it again before bed, so it doesn’t get infected.”

Tucker nods silently, eyes on his knees. “Thank you.”

Wash wraps his arms around Tucker’s shoulders and squeezes. “Of course.”

After that incident, Tucker seems to fluctuate more in his improvement. Sometimes his moods are good, sometimes they’re terrible, sometimes he’s just numb. Wash makes sure he lets Tucker know how proud he is, that it’s okay if he feels like he needs to just sleep today, that he’s not stupid, that Wash has never met someone like him before. Still won’t tell him he loves him, though, even when five months pass and Tucker has been living with him for half a fucking year. Even when Tucker has spent exactly none of that time looking for a new place, and all of it sleeping in Wash’s bed. A lot of it kissing him, too, though they don’t have sex again. Wash doesn’t think to try, but Tucker gives off enough ‘no fucking thank you’ signals that he would know better anyway.

He still won’t tell him he loves him. It just doesn’t feel right.

***

Tucker watches from the doorway as Wash helps Junior with his math homework, like he does every weekend Junior is home. Tucker is fucking garbage at it, and Junior’s not much better. Wash, however, is a nerd, and had volunteered to help when Junior had asked his father and Tucker had looked like a deer in headlights. Wash is always doing shit like that, for both of them. Just…giving himself, without being asked. Makes Tucker’s chest do funny things.

He smiles a bit as he enters the room fully, making some noise so he doesn’t scare them. “Hey, Wash,” he says, smiling a little wider when Wash looks up at him, a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure. Like…not here?”

“Yeah, it’s grown up shit,” Tucker tells him, smirking when Junior groans loudly. He knew the kid would hate that.

Wash snickers and sets the pencil down before following him out into the living room instead, and then off onto Wash’s miniature balcony. It’s a pretty mediocre view, but Tucker is still obsessed with it because it means fresh air without having to leave the house. In the six months he’s been living at Wash’s he’s kind of commandeered the balcony to be his own, decorating it with fairy lights and a tiki torch and wicker chairs with soft cushions. He flops into one of them, curling his legs underneath himself as Wash sits in the other. The sun is steadily setting, the sky a brilliant orange and pink. Wash is gazing out, and Tucker can see the colors reflected in his baby blues, and he actually swoons a little.

Wash turns them on him eventually, smiling a bit when he sees Tucker staring. Tucker used to want to die whenever Wash looked at him like that, unable to fucking stand it for even a second. Now he never wants Wash to stop. “You wanted to talk to me about something?” Wash prompts.

“Yeah.” Tucker takes a deep breath, smiling despite his nerves. Or maybe, because of them. His leg shakes up and down, so he sits on it a little heavier until it’s still. “Wash…I wanna stay,” he says softly, looking up at Wash with his fingers steepled and pressed against his lips.

Wash just looks at him for a moment, searching his eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifts a bit. “You…want to stay? Here? Like, with me?”

“Yeah,” Tucker nods, smiling a little wider. “And…I wanna date you.”

Wash softens completely, his eyes all the warmer for the sunset inside of them. “You sure?” he asks quietly.

“I’m sure,” Tucker tells him, his leg shaking again despite his best efforts. He feels a little bit like a puppy with his tail wagging, and can’t help the giddy laugh as Wash’s face splits into a grin. “I know things aren’t…totally okay, yet. But I wanna be with you. You make me feel…happy. And safe. And…loved. I can’t imagine where I would be without you.” Wash is quiet, just watching him with gentle eyes and a softly tilted mouth. Tucker smiles back, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “So? Yes, no? Maybe?”

“What, I have to say yes?” Wash teases, leaning forward and kissing him firmly, and Tucker sighs softly. Fuck, Wash is perfect. “Fine, yes. I would love to date you for real. Instead of sleeping in the same bed and kissing all the time without being able to call you Sugar Lips.’”

“Oh my fucking God,” Tucker laughs, louder than he has in fucking months. Maybe longer than that. “You call me Sugar Lips and I’m gonna kick your ass so hard, Washington!”

“Fine, fine. Sweetpea?”

“Ew, no!”

“Puddin’?”

“I will fucking leave, I swear to God.”

“Okay, okay. …sorry, Sweet Cheeks.”

Tucker cackles and gets out of his chair, sitting in Wash’s lap instead and tugging on the fluff of dirty blond hair on top of his head. “You are the fucking worst. I love you.”

It’s Wash’s turn to laugh, short but loud, and he cups Tucker’s cheeks as he kisses him tenderly. “God. I love you, too, Tucker.”

Tucker beams against his lips, settling into his arms when they slowly and naturally break away. Wash rests his cheek on top of his head and Tucker smiles, reaching to drape his arm over Wash’s stomach. They watch as the sun disappears behind the horizon, making way for the moon, the stars, and a soft breeze against their cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT, Y'ALL.
> 
> Man, this thing has been a whirlwind! This is my first EVER nano, and even though this fic didn't make it to 50k (I'll be writing other shit before the end of the month because I have a nagging urge to WIN AT EVERYTHING), I am so proud of the fact that I churned this thing out in a month! Like, WHAT? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave this fic love, I'm so happy it could resonate with some of you. And I'm sorry to everyone I tortured, I hope the ending was sweet enough to make up for it!
> 
> See y'all next time xoxo


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